Chapter 47

47

Powell tried not to let the terror show. Heather was right next to her. They'd bound one of each of their hands with zip ties. To a low bar in an old storage closet. It hurt. She was stretched up to reach. The thin plastic cut into her skin, burned. Powell tried to ignore it. She and Heather were less than a foot apart, right there in the back closet of the warehouse office where they'd brought them.

It smelled like chemicals, so strongly she wanted to gag. It was in the air. Her stomach rolled again. She was not going to vomit in this closet. She just wasn't.

"Just…stay quiet," Heather said barely above a whisper. "We can get out of this. We just need to plan how."

Powell nodded. But every possible scenario for what they intended to do to her and Heather was running through her head. She was really trying not to panic. Blood was on her favorite trousers. The guard's. She would never forget how Keith's blood had sprayed on her as he'd fallen at her feet.

The red turned the navy almost black, especially in the lower light. She tried not to stare at that blood.

There was more blood on Heather.

They'd slapped Heather a few times. When she'd gotten mouthy. Or just because they'd wanted to. Heather's mouth had bled after that. Dripped onto the zippered sweatshirt Heather wore.

They'd touched them both. Groping them while the men had bound their hands. One had told Powell in detail what he was going to do to her when he came back, with his hands all over her chest.

He'd said Gunnar Erickson's whore deserved it. They all really hated Gunnar. And Heather. And anyone associated with Major Crimes.

Major Crimes was the enemy. And this was war.

That man had grabbed her by the hips and pulled her against him. Told her that he'd always wanted to screw a rich lady, to see if she was worth it or something.

Heather had kicked him in the shin. Gotten his attention on her next. Powell would never forget the way he had slapped Heather after that. Told Heather she needed to learn her place.

That he was going to teach Heather exactly what her place was as soon as he could. For Steve.

" We need to figure out what they are doing here and what they were after by attacking us. Most likely, it was just to hide what they were doing. To clean up after everything that happened with Steve and Kimball. There will be a way out of here. I counted fifteen sets of windows on this side of the building when they brought us in. And at least four doors on the floor below. East side. And most of these guys are stupid goons. We can outsmart them."

Powell hadn't even imagined counting ways out. But Heather had. It didn't lessen the terror, but it gave her a little hope.

"How are we going to get out?"

"I'm not sure yet. I need to think. Just…don't draw attention your way," Heather said. She lifted her free hand and draped her arm over Powell's shoulder. "We'll…get home. I'm not going to let these bastards keep me from getting back to my babies. I'm not. And you are getting back to Gunnar and are going to drag him off into the sunset and make yourself and that beautiful, beautiful man happy. I promise, Powell. I will get you out of here and back to him. Somehow."

Powell just nodded. She covered her stomach with her free hand. There wasn't anything she wasn't prepared to do to get herself out of there. Her baby…

"This is going to tear Bonnie to pieces. And the rest of my family," Heather said grimly. "I keep thinking of Crispin and Cara, mostly. This…those two aren't…they're so innocent, and…so afraid of the world already. Since…Eastman."

"Cara's going to freak completely. And my mom will too." Powell fought the tears.

"We have people who love us, Powell. We're going to get back to them. No matter what."