By the time they reached the end of the hall, her limp was more pronounced and her foot felt like it was being stabbed all over again.
At the end of the hall, a small freight elevator gaped open.
Not having to take stairs was a small blessing.
She limped inside and leaned heavily against the wall of the car. The injured leg shook and her other leg ached from having to compensate for the injury.
Even if she could get away, how far would she make it?
The elevator ride was too short for her to regain any strength.
The gunman waved her off.
She hobbled behind the other man, each step slower than the one before it.
They crossed a large open space. The center was filled with crates, boxes, and equipment, including a small forklift.
They passed the equipment. The man stopped outside a steel door.
Though she was all turned around in this windowless building, this door was opposite the garage-type door, so it seemed unlikely it led outside.
Salt-laden air tingled her senses as the man swung the door open.
Water?
Florescent lights illuminated the interior.
Wooden decking surrounded a cabin cruiser, which waited silently in the waves.
Seated inside the cabin, Mitch watched her. The other guy, the one who’d spoken to her in the coffeeshop and had her brought here, stood on deck with his arms crossed over his chest.
Half a dozen steps led from the door down to the deck.
Navigating them was torturous.
Probably for all the men watching her take the steps, too.
Reaching the deck, she eyed the water surrounding the boat.
If she was going to make a break for it, this might be her best chance. But could she swim with her hands bound?
She didn’t have to swim far. Just far enough to get away from this warehouse.
She’d bet they were close to the dock area. Or some dock area.
It was her best chance.
She pretended to stumble, dropping to one knee, then tumbled over the edge. Fingers brushed her bare foot, but the man was too slow.
A shock of cold slapped her as she splashed into the frigid water. Her breathing quickened.
Salt stung her foot and she bit back a cry.
Her mind blanked. The cold numbed her limbs and slowed her thinking.
This wasn’t going to work! She was going to drown!
Reason settled her thoughts.
Calm down. She was burning through her air way too quickly.
Her body drifted up, bumping into something hard. Smooth fiberglass met her fingers.
The boat.
She pushed herself under it, feeling her way to the other side.
She opened her eyes. The salt water burned, but the bright overhead florescent lights illuminated the surface of the water enough for her to see the decking not far away.
Pushing down, she kicked toward the exterior of the building, hands out in front of her to make sure she didn’t run into something with her head.
The light dimmed.
She was under the boards.
Her lungs begged for air.
A few more kicks and her hands touched a round pole.
A support?
She needed air. Now.
She surfaced, drinking oxygen into her deprived lungs. Twilight settled around her, the heavy clouds making it feel later than it was. Light rain tapped on her head.
Angry male voices sounded from somewhere behind her. She looked over her shoulder, but saw only the weathered boards of the boatshed.
They wouldn’t be far behind her.
Ahead of her, a dock stretched out into the water like a finger pointing to sea. Several fishing vessels bobbed at the dock.
Not as close as she’d like, but she didn’t see a better option.
She pulled in a deep breath, then dove back under.
Cold seeped through her clothes, her skin, into her bones. Her toes numbed, as did her sore foot. Well, at least the chilly waters of the north Pacific had some benefit.
Swimming with bound hands left her few options other than a feeble dog-paddle. Her legs did most of the work, and the muscles tired quickly.
She surfaced and drew in another breath.
A little over halfway there.
She looked behind her. No sign of movement at the boatshed.
Nor had she heard the engine rev.
Hopefully that meant they were searching the waters around the boat. She needed as much time as she could get to make it ashore and ring Dak.
Once they headed out to open water, it’d be much harder to track them.
She inhaled deeply, then dove.
When she surfaced again, she’d made less progress than the previous swim.
She could barely feel her arms or legs anymore.
Still no one in pursuit, at least not that she could see. What if they were under the water, swimming toward her right now?
She kicked with as much strength as she could muster, aiming for the dock.
Movement from one of the boats caught her eye.
A fishing vessel, with two crusty gray-haired men moving about the deck.
What if they were in league with Mitch and Coffeeshop Man?
It was a risk she’d have to take.
At this point, she didn’t think she could go much further.
“Help!” Her voice wobbled weakly. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Heeelp!”
One of the men straightened, his attention lighting on her.
He jumped off the boat, landing on the deck, and tossed a life preserver to her with surprising accuracy. It splashed a few feet in front of her. “Grab it. We’ll pull you in.”
She kicked the few remaining feet, then latched onto the preserver as if her life depended upon it. Which, as cold as she was and as weak as she felt, it just might.
Water splashed into her face as the men towed her in.
Hands wrapped around her arms and hauled her up, depositing her gently on the
