If You Only Knew

Chapter Three



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RAYNA CLAWED HER way through the shroud of black fog that suffocated her. The effort took everything she had, and there was no energy left to keep her eyes open. So tired… she let her eyelids fall shut again…

Her head pounded, and her throat was so dry it hurt to swallow. Precious moments had passed even though she’d only intended to rest her eyes for a few seconds. Her breathing quickened as memories returned full force. Andre and his two goons, the attack in her apartment, and the whole humiliating scene recorded for the purpose of securing Ty’s cooperation played through her mind in slow motion.

What did Andre want Ty to find for him? Surely Ty couldn’t be associated with these creeps. Would he come? An answer to the question didn’t come readily, but it wouldn’t matter. As soon as her vision cleared a bit and her head stopped hammering, she’d get herself out of here. She had no idea what her captors had planned for her, but it wasn’t in her nature to sit around waiting to be rescued. Making good her escape before Andre returned with more drugs seemed like a no-brainer.

She pursed her lips against the pain in her head and rose up on her elbows to survey the narrow cot she rested on. Thank God she was no longer bound. Mustiness pervaded the long, narrow room. The rough timbered walls and floor of her small prison made her claustrophobic, and she broke out in a cold sweat. A small window caught her attention near the ceiling on one wall, and she focused on it. Could she fit through that narrow opening?

The wool blanket that covered the cot scratched at her skin as she swung her legs off the bed and pushed to her feet. She swayed and held her breath, battling the nausea that churned the contents of her stomach. What had Andre injected her with? The possibilities forced a groan from tightly sealed lips.

The sickness gradually lessened, and she glanced around the room. A flight of wooden steps receded into shadows to the floor above. It made sense that the door at the top was locked or they wouldn’t have untied her, but as soon as she got her head in the game, she’d climb up and check, just in case they were more arrogant than smart.

A tidy workbench lined two walls, including the one with the window. That may come in handy. There were no tools anywhere in sight. Apparently, someone had removed everything that could possibly be used as a weapon. On the other hand, there were probably twenty moving boxes stacked all along one wall. Had they taken the time to go through those as well?

Rayna shivered. It wasn’t the cold that sent the involuntary tremor shooting through her nervous system, which brought another, less welcome thought. What did Andre inject her with? Was she already addicted to some vile drug? A chill—of fear this time—raced through her. She pulled the sides of her sweater together, not so much for the warmth, but for the comfort it offered.

Standing on wobbly legs, she took a few tentative steps. That wasn’t so bad. She could do this, as long as they didn’t make her take more drugs and providing she got something for her headache soon. Her first priority, though, was blowing this joint.

She eyed the small window again. It was light outside, but Rayna had no idea how much time had passed since Andre and his thugs forced their way into her apartment. It could have been hours or days. Would Ty come for her? Was he already here looking for her? Considering some of the things she’d said to him before she left Montana, she wouldn’t be surprised if he opted not to come. Did she want him to? She’d give anything to see him again, but not like this. Anyway, she’d gotten herself into this mess. Surely she could get herself out.

Any escape she planned would depend more on hiding than running, since her shoes had disappeared. Still, her gaze continually wandered to the bit of blue sky visible through the glass. When she finally mustered the energy to climb onto the workbench, she had to balance on her tiptoes to reach the window, but it appeared to be painted shut and wouldn’t budge.

The moving boxes against the opposite wall were large and stacked two deep. She strained to pull herself on top of one, then had to stop and catch her breath. Another reason running wasn’t the optimal plan.

Packing tape held the box lid closed, and she picked at one end until it ripped open. The box held blankets, towels and other household linens, but she pawed clear to the bottom in hopes of finding something useful. Nothing. She dropped a couple of blankets back into the box, then gave up and shoved the rest off the back, wedging them between the box and the wall.

The next box was half full of books, DVDs, and CDs. This was clearly a waste of time. Even if there was something useful in one of these cartons, it would take more time to find than she could spare. She let the flaps fall shut and lowered herself to the floor. Her foot jammed against something hard, partially hidden between a box and the wall. Swearing under her breath, she groped at her feet until her hand closed over a hard, rectangular object. She grasped it and turned it over in her hands. A brick. Now we’re talking.

This time it took two tries to hoist herself onto the workbench, and a wave of dizziness swept over her as she stood and straightened. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall for a moment until the room stopped spinning. Could she do this? It wasn’t like she had a choice. First, she had to get out of this room. Then she could go home, find Ty, and explain. She pressed her fists to her head, trying to hold back the confusion that swirled like drifting mist through her mind.

Voices. Her gaze flew toward the top of the stairs as low murmurs drifted to her ears. Someone was approaching the door above. She trembled as fear tightened like icy cords around her limbs. Andre? Would he bring another syringe full of God-knows-what? She’d rather die than let him inject her again.

Dying was highly likely if they caught her trying to escape. She’d already served her purpose by starring in Andre’s little video to entice Ty to do his bidding. No doubt her time was limited anyway. The freedom beyond the window called to her. She had to try, regardless of the danger.

With her gaze on the door at the top of the stairs, she stripped off her sweater and wrapped it around the brick. On her tiptoes, she raised the brick above her head and struck the glass. The thin pane shattered with the first blow, and she turned her face away, continuing to knock out the broken shards that still stuck to the window frame like a ghoulish smile. Small pieces rained down her arms, stinging her head and shoulders. The sweater muffled the sound of impact, but the breaking glass echoed loudly in her ears, followed by the scattering of broken pieces against the windowsill and workbench.

She stilled to listen. Voices again and footsteps stopped just on the other side of the door.

“No, damn it.” Her words were a groan as she heard a key clank in the lock. Time was up. Calling on strength reserves she didn’t know she had, she tossed the sweater-wrapped brick through the broken window.



TY HADN’T SLEPT on the red-eye. He couldn’t close his eyes without being bombarded by gruesome images of what Rayna might be enduring. She’d already defied Andre—not a good habit to get into. Would she push and push until he decided it wasn’t worth keeping her alive? She could be so damn infuriating. But if there was one thing Ty could count on, it was that she wouldn’t go down easy.

By the time the plane landed, he was keyed up and itching to get in the fray. He retrieved his checked bag, containing his disassembled firearm, and hailed a cab at the curb outside LAX. The driver dropped him at the Best Western on Sepulveda. As soon as he arrived, Ty noticed the Bobbsey Twins sitting at an outdoor café across the street from the motel, but he went through the motions of registering as Chris Knight anyway.


Boris Khavin and Mikhail Lenevski, dubbed the Bobbsey Twins by Ty’s ex-partner because one never went anywhere without the other, served as Andre’s gatekeepers. No one got anywhere near Andre unless they went through these two jokers. The fact Ty and Bree had gotten close enough to put a pair of bullets in him six years ago almost guaranteed the Twins weren’t feeling too charitable toward him at the moment.

Ty took his room key, but rather than go upstairs, he asked the motel clerk if he could leave his bag in the office. He received a frown in spite of his forced cheerfulness, but the woman grudgingly accepted the bag he handed over the counter, and he took a seat in the lobby. After a phone call to Joe, letting him know he’d arrived on schedule, Ty picked up the newspaper from the table in front of him and settled back to wait.

Thirty-five minutes later, Boris and Mikhail took seats on either side of him. Their deadpan expressions were just as he remembered. He’d learned the hard way that their lack of outward emotion meant nothing. They were smart and unpredictable, which made them exceedingly dangerous.

“How are you boys doing?” Ty glanced up long enough to turn another page in his newspaper before he continued to read. The Twins both had patches of black hair atop balding heads and dark brown eyes, but that was where the similarity ended. Boris was the taller at six feet; Mikhail came in at a mere five-foot-eight. Boris was thin and wiry with a scraggly mustache, while Mikhail was muscle-bound with broad shoulders. Of the two, Boris was smarter, which made him more dangerous, but Mikhail could flatten a man with one blow. It was never a good idea to underestimate either of them.

Boris jerked the paper from his hands. “You would do well to show some respect.”

Ty steepled his fingers in front of him. “Not much respect due a man who has to kidnap a woman to get what he wants. By the way, Mikhail, that nose looks broken. She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

Mikhail scowled. “You are lucky the bitch is still alive. If you fail to provide what Andre wants, it will be my pleasure to kill her.”

Mikhail was trying to goad him into losing his temper, and though Ty had prepared himself for that, it almost worked. He forced his anger aside, snorted a laugh, and turned his attention to Boris. “So, what’s the plan? How long before I see her?”

“The car is out front. It is not far, but I would not count on Andre letting you see her.” Boris stood and motioned for him to follow.

The car was a late-model Lexus. Mikhail searched him for weapons, confiscated his cell phone, and shoved him into the backseat, sliding in beside him. Ty always felt undressed without his gun or at least a knife stuck in his boot. Situations like this were exactly the reason Joe drilled the team so hard on hand-to-hand combat. The ability to defend yourself, procure a weapon from the enemy, or even kill with your bare hands had never seemed so crucial as they did on this mission. He was virtually walking into the lions’ den with nothing to work with except what he could take away from the lions. Ty had every confidence in his ability to take what he needed.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Mikhail tossed Ty’s phone from the window, then smirked. Ty held his tongue with no small effort. Mikhail was a highly paid bully, no doubt trying to elicit a response that would give him an excuse to do what he really wanted to do—kick the shit out of someone. Ty had learned two things early in his career—always try to arrange it so the someone wasn’t you, and if you were going to get the shit kicked out of you, give as good as you got.

Boris was all gas, brake, and horn for the next forty-five minutes. Ty leaned back and did his best to ignore the near-misses as the car careened through heavy traffic. He gritted his teeth and said nothing. They exited the freeway and wound through the streets of West Los Angeles until they entered a quiet, tree-lined residential neighborhood. Finally, Boris pulled over and parallel-parked in front of an older, two-story house. Ty opened the door and stepped onto the curb, ignoring Mikhail’s threatening glare.

The house was charcoal gray. A large porch ran all along the front. Most of the houses on the block looked the same, and all were well-maintained. A three-man crew mowed the lawn and cleaned the flower beds as Ty walked up the sidewalk, flanked by the Bobbsey Twins. A warm breeze rustled the rosebushes and brought with it the smell of someone’s backyard barbeque. Somewhere nearby, people were going about their lives oblivious to the danger that lurked so close by.

Ty studied the landscaping crew. Their black hair, dark eyes, slim and toned physiques, together with sinister expressions that followed his every move, gave them away. Russian to a man, unless he missed his guess, and probably didn’t know a perennial from an annual. No such thing as coincidence—Joe’s favorite expression.

Boris knocked twice and then walked into the house. Ty followed slowly, studying the interior. The rooms he could see were virtually empty. What furniture did remain here and there was draped with sheets. No one lived here. This was just a temporary holding cell for Rayna. If Ty agreed to find Bree, Rayna wouldn’t be here when he got back. Andre would make sure he didn’t know where to look for her.

The joke would be on Andre, though—Ty didn’t plan on leaving here without her.

A door opened in front of him. Andre stood there dressed in black, his dark, curly hair cut short. A scornful smile made a joke of his proffered hand. Ty ignored it until Andre’s arm fell to his side.

“You made good time. The woman must mean more to you than I thought.” Andre swung the door wide and motioned him in.

“I don’t take lightly to my friends being threatened.” Ty walked forward into what appeared to be a library. Row upon row of shelves stood empty, just like the rest of the house. A card table, strewn with papers, served as a desk in the center of the room.

Andre motioned him to a chair. “We have much to discuss.”

Ty made no move to sit. “We have nothing to discuss until I know Rayna is all right.”

Andre hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “Of course. You are concerned about your friend. I will take you to her and give you a few minutes.”

He turned and walked from the room they’d just entered, and Ty followed him into the kitchen, where he stopped in front of a closed door.

“She may have… some bruises, but I assure you she was much harder on my men than they were on her.” Andre appeared almost apologetic.

What was that about? The Andre Ty knew didn’t apologize for anything. “I saw your men. Rayna always could take care of herself, but if you hadn’t decided to involve her in something she had nothing to do with, she wouldn’t be here, bruised or drugged. Pray she’s okay, Andre. I’m not the forgiving kind.”

“I mean her no harm.”

“Then let her go.”

Andre turned back to the door and produced an old skeleton key from his pocket. “I will—when you have done something for me.” He put the key in the lock, turned it, and swung the door open.

A set of wooden steps descended into gray obscurity, broken only by the light from one window. Fresh air wafted around Ty’s face and carried the smell of newly mowed grass. He detected no sound or movement in the room below.

“What the…?” Andre pulled a string that hung from a bare bulb above their heads, illuminating a ten-foot circle directly in front of them, and then rushed down the stairs.


Three steps from the bottom, he stopped and yelled something in Russian. When Boris and Mikhail appeared, Andre turned on them with murderous rage. “She’s gone! Search the grounds and find her. And then find out who was supposed to be watching her.”

Ty stepped down beside him and followed his gaze. The glass in the small window had been broken, and shattered pieces littered the workbench below.

Andre bounded down the remaining steps and performed a hasty search of the small space, swearing every few feet.

“It appears your hostage has flown the coop.” Ty’s gaze returned to the window. He vaulted onto the workbench and peered out. A quick bump of his elbow broke out the last remaining shard of glass, and he caught it before it fell, shoving it quickly into his pocket. “Looks like a black sweater on the grass. She must have dropped it.” He jumped off the bench and started for the stairs.

Andre scowled. “Where are you going?”

“Rayna is out there somewhere in a drug-induced stupor with a torn dress and no shoes. She doesn’t know where she is or who to trust. Where do you think I’m going?”

“Het! You will stay. I will find Rayna, and then you will find someone for me. Yes?” Andre brushed by him and ascended the stairs. The key scraped in the lock, footsteps receded, and silence fell over the basement.

Ty allowed himself a grim smile as he fingered the glass shard he’d broken from the window. He hopped back up on the bench and scanned the yard and the street beyond. The three members of the landscape crew each took off in a different direction on foot and in a hurry. Andre must have put the fear of God in them. Andre and Boris climbed into Boris’s car and pulled away. Good. That left only Mikhail guarding the house.

Ty waited until the car was out of sight before he jumped down and spoke softly. “They’re gone. Now would be a good time for you to come out of hiding so we can get the hell out of here.”