“She’s not his real niece,” the first one argued, “and it might be worth it just to have those legs wrapped around my waist.” He chuckled. “Besides, there’s that other one. She’d damn cute. Not as athletic, but I would...”
The voices began to fade as they walked by. One phrase stood out. “... both be dead in a few...” the second one said, and then they were gone.
Dead?
Dani raced up the last flight and peeked around the edge of the doorway and into the hall. No one was there. She half-jogged back to her door and knelt by the unconscious guard. She patted his cheek.
“Hey, hey, are you all right?” she asked, repeating it over and over. Gradually, the man started to come to.
“Are you okay? I heard an alarm and then a thud. Are you okay?”
He leapt to his feet and held his head, instantly regretting his fast movements.
“Someone hit me,” he snarled, rearing back away from her. It was flattering, actually.
“Who?” Dani asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
“I don’t know.” He looked at her for a moment, and something passed over his expression. He’d considered her, but looking at her slight frame and long legs he’d dismissed the possibility of a pretty, petite little girl taking him out like that. “Get back in the room,” he said, thumb indicating the door. “I don’t know why the hell that was unlocked anyway.”
“Relax—you don’t have get huffy. I was just trying to help.” Dani slunk back into her room as the man grabbed a walkie-talkie and began speaking into it.
Dani walked into the room and took a deep breath. Katie was wrong. The queen was expendable, too.
After all, the king was safe now. Wasn’t that the whole point of the game?
CHAPTER NINE
Luke floundered in the alley. He hoped Dani was right about not being seen from the house, because his legs felt like rubber and his knees wouldn’t hold him anymore.
Somebody skipped leg day. Actually, there were no weights or anything in his prison to work his legs. He’d done crunches and sit-up and push-ups, but nothing for the leg muscles that had slowly begun to atrophy without something to keep them stimulated. It wasn’t that he missed squats. He needed aerobic activity, something to work the cardiovascular so his heart could pump the oxygen to his legs at the supply they needed.
He grabbed a dumpster and leaned on it, taking deep breaths. He forced his legs to move forward, promising them that the breakneck panic speed was over, and he would behave, walking like a nice boy. His legs didn’t exactly believe him, but he forced them along anyway, wondering just how long it took to get out of shape.
I used to be able to run for miles without stopping.
Yeah... since when? You haven’t gone jogging more than twice in the last three months.
By the time he got to the end of the alley he was walking more or less normally again, and his breath was no longer coming in short gasps. Vowing that if he got out of this alive, he’d go jogging at least six days a week for the rest of his life, he glanced around. Multi-million-dollar mansions on tree-lined streets, manicured lawns and fences that varied from boundary markers to great edifices of privacy, sporting signs threatening the fool that tried to breach them. The alley was for the little people: garbage collection, deliveries, stray dogs. Vital to those who needed such things (except for the stray dogs) but invisible, beneath notice, therefore unseen.
He came through the alley in jeans and t-shirt that had “SCREW IT” emblazoned above an enlarged cartoon wood screw and a plank of wood. Even if he’d been going to quirky or even mildly eccentric, he was woefully unprepared for a stroll in the wealthiest area of Atlanta. At the very least his jeans should have been designer. A haircut or even just a shave would have done wonders.
He appeared to not be unique in his assessment of his inability to blend in. He’d gotten a few blocks toward town when he saw a cruiser rolling toward him. Relieved because he’d been waiting for the thugs to come after him for the last ten minutes, he turned and waved them down. From their expressions, that was the last thing they had counted on.
“Can we help you?” the driver said, eyeing him as if he were last week’s leftovers.
“I’m Agent Luke McConnell, FBI. I work for Deputy Director Randy Addams.”
“What are you doing out here?” the other one asked, not looking like he believed him.
“We’re going to need to see some identification,” the driver added, making no move toward something helpful. Like his radio. Cell phone even? Anything?
“I don’t have any ID,” Luke said, with a sinking feeling that told him exactly how this was going to go down from here. “I just escaped. I was kidnapped.”
“I thought you said you were a fed.”
“I am.”
“You’re trying to tell us that someone kidnapped a fed?” The driver exchanged glances with his partner, who snorted and looked away. Hell, this was going on Facebook. Not in a good way.
“Look, just take me to the station; I need to check in...”
“We can’t do that,” the second guy said with a shake of his head.
“Why the hell not?”
“Not without proper ID.” He shot a look that clearly said, ‘This guy is crazy’ to the driver, who nodded.
“I don’t have any ID.”
“No money either, I suppose?”
“No, why?”
“That’s vagrancy,” the driver said, seizing on the thing he did know how to process. “You need to move along now.”
“I’m trying to tell you that is what I want to do!”
“Don’t get argumentative, buddy,” the passenger warned. “You don’t want us to haul you in.”
“Yes,” Luke nodded his entire torso. “Yes, that is exactly what I want. Haul me in!”
“Not without the proper ID!” the driver said, and shook his head. “There’s paperwork.”
“WHAT?”
“Hey, look at it from our perspective: you claim to be a fed, but you don’t have any ID...”
“I am a federal agent. I’m stationed in D.C., on assignment here in Atlanta!”
“...you don’t have a badge, you don’t have ID. You could be a crazed vagrant, for all we know.”
Luke dropped his head and counted to ten. He looked at the two policemen and sighed. He held up his index finger to signal them to wait a moment and backed off from the cruiser, onto the sidewalk and over the edge of someone’s lawn. He signaled them to wait again, unzipped his fly, and pulled out his cock and began watering the grass.
“HEY!” the cops yelled in unison, and clamored out of the car. One of them, Luke thought it had been the guy from the passenger side, grabbed Luke’s left wrist and slapped a pair of cuffs on him. He reached for the right one.
“Mind if I shake it first?” Luke asked, trying to be polite.
“Put it away,” the cop growled, and waited until Luke was decent again, then force-marched him to the car. His partner opened the door and they crammed him inside.
“You’re under arrest,” the passenger said, pulling a small card from his pocket. “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say and will be used against you. You have...”