Page 22 of Her Magic Light

“Sweet Jesus.” I moved to cover myself, feeling naked even in my clothes.

“Hell’s teeth, Paulson,” Coop ground out. “There’s procedure andprocedure.”

Paulson grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the low light. “Like I said.” He turned his flashlight off and nonchalantly swung it into a loop on his holster. “Following procedure. Just doing my job.” He looked toward the guard tower again. “It’s clean,” he yelled, and his voice echoed from the walls, cracking like a whip. He saluted Locke, though the gesture was anything but respectful, and as Paulson turned to leave, Coop flipped him the bird.

Then Paulson strolled away, his footsteps clicking eerily across the space as he returned to the guard tower. Coop grimaced and leaned toward me. “If you promise to not make a run for it, I’ll take the cuffs off long enough for you to wiggle your fingers in your lap and get some blood flowing.”

I gave him a long look. “Why would I agree to that?”

“Because your pinkies are probably numb, your shoulders hurt, and you have a crick in your neck.” He paused. “And this is the last chance to do it before your next stop.”

I chewed my bottom lip. What the hell was this place? Guard towers meant prison, right?

Big, empty, and desolate. And aside from the low purr of the engine as Locke rolled us slowly forward once more, there was complete silence. No traffic noise. Not even a bird call. And the sound of the ocean was missing.

“Fine,” I said and pushed my arms toward him so he could reach my shackles.

Silently, Coop pulled a key from his pocket, inserted it in the lock, and twisted. His hands brushed mine, and some of my panic eased. The pressure on my wrists lessened and then disappeared. I pulled my arms back to my lap, the pins and prickles already starting as circulation returned. Shit. I rubbed my wrists. I hadn’t realized how numb parts of my hands had gotten.

“Come on,” he murmured.

I gave him a long look as I wriggled my fingers. Jumping out within view of Paulson wasn’t viable, the creepy bastard didn’t need an excuse to attack me. And I would hate to become his prisoner. It would be easier to do things with my hands in front of me.

“Don’t make me tase you.”

“Tase me?” I nearly shrieked. “Seriously?”

He didn’t react.

Finally, I shoved my hands toward him, and he returned the metal to its place. His hands grazed mine, and my shoulders ticked down an inch. The pain in my neck lessened slightly. Once again, I was doing the opposite of what was recommended in a kidnapped situation.

I scanned our surroundings as he refastened the cuffs. We still moved along a driveway within the strange, prison-like compound. Wordlessly, he leaned back in his seat.

“Where are we?” This time, I sounded curious, and I immediately revised my attempted civility. I wasn’t just curious. I was goddamned angry. “Where have you brought me? Why am I here?” I jerked the door handle: yet nothing happened. I yanked on it with two hands for good measure, but neither man said anything. And the door remained closed.

My outburst hadn’t provoked them.

I sat back against the seat, glad to have my hands in front of me. “Do youoftenabduct people?”

Still silence, and to be honest, the answer was probably fucking yes. How else had they gotten under my skin and gotten me to follow along?

They were men in suits, they were slick, and the whole operation this morning had been seamless. They’d descended on Sweetwater and watched me, tracking my progress for most of the morning.

“You were in the coffee shop.” My tone this time was accusing as I spoke directly to Coop. My gaze narrowed.

He turned his head but only glanced at me before he faced forward again, giving me neither acknowledgement nor denial.

“And you stopped me from falling over in the street.” I spoke angrily to the back of Locke’s head, and he didn’t react, either. Just kept the car rolling forward at a constant, slow speed across a courtyard that seemed to never have an end.

“Where are we even going? You’ve brought me to an abandoned building with armed guards. Why not just let me out? Let me go.” I yanked at the door handle again. Even snapping it off would have provided a small degree of satisfaction. Fury-tears threatened to flood my eyes, and I clenched my mouth tight.

Coop sighed, and I swayed slightly as Locke made a wide turn, heading to the left of the warehouse building. Most of the windows were black and blank like soulless eyes, but I stared hard at them as we passed, almost willing movement in them.

A shadow fell over us as we passed close by the side of the building, and as we turned right to head to the back, Locke steered us onto a ramp leading downward, below ground.

I clutched the edge of the seat, hoping neither man would see my reaction. “Where are we going?” I spoke through gritted teeth. “Where?”

As we leveled off again, I took in a large parking lot, with row upon row of black cars—like the one we were traveling in. What was this place? Who were these men? Which letters did they work for? CIA? NSA?

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