Hunting Moon (Decorah Security Series, Book #11): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel Read Free Page B

something similar. “Let me make sure it’s him.”
    The man who had spoken left her with the pilot, and she watched him stride across the blacktop. The other guy held her only loosely, and she tried not to telegraph her intentions as she waited for her chance.
    Suddenly she rammed her elbow into his side. As he grunted in pain, she wrenched away and lit out in the opposite direction from the car.
    She might have been unconscious a little while ago, but she had an athlete’s stamina and legs.
    Ignoring the shout behind her, she yanked at the plastic strip holding her wrists, pulling through the last of the bond as she headed for a low clapboard-sided structure, making decisions as she sprinted. The logical thing would be to go inside and ask for help, but in this case she was sure that was the wrong tactic. Her captors had deliberately chosen an isolated location. If she ran into the building, she could be trapping herself, or whoever was in there could grab her.
    Veering to the right, she ducked around the building, making for the woods. She was stopped by a high chain-link fence, topped with razor wire.
    oOo
    Tory didn’t waste any energy on a cry of frustration. She simply changed directions, running along the barrier, praying she’d come to an open gate. Behind her she could hear the men from the plane and maybe another one. The driver of the luxury car or someone from the building.
    She kept going, the air wheezing in and out of her lungs. Ahead of her she saw an entrance to the airport—and an open gate. If she could only make it through, she could disappear into the woods.
    But she never reached that haven. One of the men behind her must have realized that he was in serious danger of losing her and put on a desperate burst of speed. Grabbing her by the shoulder, he threw her to the ground.
    When she tried to roll away, he smacked her hard across the face, stunning her.
    “Bitch.”
    He had pulled back his hand to sock her in the mouth when the other guy caught up with them and grabbed the assailant’s hand.
    “Don’t damage her.”
    “She . . .”
    “Leave her be.”
    The one who had spoken knelt beside her, then swore when he saw that she’d freed her hands.
    “Tricky,” he muttered as he pulled another set of plastic handcuffs from his back pocket and secured her wrists again.
    “Please, let me go.”
    “Can’t do that. Come on.”
    He hauled her to her feet and led her back the way they’d come.
    She wanted to scream or sob, but she wasn’t going to give these guys the satisfaction. One on either side, they gripped her arms as they marched her back toward the long black car.
    A back door opened, and a man she hadn’t seen before got out. Slender except for signs of pudginess around his middle, he was wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a subdued red tie. His dark hair was neatly combed, and his face was pale, as though he didn’t go out much. He looked like he was in his mid-forties, and he could have been dressed for an evening at the Midnight Club—or the symphony.
    “I’m Dr. Raymond,” he said.
    “Who?”
    “Dr. Raymond. I’ll be working with you.”
    “Why? I don’t need you to work with me. I’m fine.”
    “Not if you’re so paranoid that you needed to try and escape.”
    He looked around at the open-air setting. “This isn’t a good place to talk. We can have a nice chat when we get to the Refuge.”
    “Paranoid? Your guys just drugged me and flew me away from New York City to God knows where.”
    “For your own good. You’ll have to trust me on that.”
    “Oh, right.”
    As his men held her in place, he took a quick step forward. When he lifted his arm, she saw a hypodermic in his hand, then felt the prick of the needle. Lord, not again.
    Only seconds later, she felt her vision and her mind begin to blur, and she would have fallen over if the men hadn’t been holding her up.
    “Let’s get her into the car,” Raymond said.
    At first, she didn’t actually lose