After it was over, Georgia realized what an efficient op it had been. Her attacker had been quiet and well organized. He knew exactly where to apply pressure and when to inject the knockout drug. Propofol or ketamine laced with something, followed by a secondary anesthetic, she guessed. In other words, the goon was a professional.
At the time, however, she knew nothing, except that she didn’t want to wake up. It was comforting to float in a warm, welcoming void, suspended between mindfulness and sleep. She felt weightless and untethered, as though she could drift anywhere she could imagine. A moment later, though, a loud crash broke through her unconsciousness. A door slam? An engine coughed. She was in a moving vehicle. She tried to crack one eye open, but it was too much effort. Her body bumped and jounced with the motion of the vehicle. A van. She was on the floor of a van lying on her side. That was enough for now. She sank back into the warm, inviting darkness.
The van was still in motion when she woke again. The void was thinner and she knew she was back. The van was running fast but not at breakneck speed. She tried again to open an eye. This time she could. It was dark, but the window at the top of the sliding panel door was covered with dark material that allowed a sliver of light to slip in around the edges. Georgia had no idea how long she’d been out, but the fact that light was spilling through the flap of material indicated it wasn’t that long. An hour. Maybe two.
The van must be traveling on a highway, because the ride was fairly smooth. She began to roll over, but stopped. Her hands and feet were tied, and a gag was stuffed in her mouth. If she didn’t end up in the right position, she might suffocate. Or choke. She stayed motionless and tried to take stock. Her hands and feet radiated pins and needles, and there was a sharp pain at the injection site. Whatever he’d used had penetrated deep.
A male voice called out from the front. “T minus ten.”
“Got it,” a second male voice replied.
Someone was in the back of the van with her. He must have been there since they’d been at Baldwin’s. But it wasn’t Vic’s voice. A team of goons. She considered moaning so they’d know she was awake—their reaction might tell her more—but decided to hold off. Any unexpected behavior by a hostage was always dangerous. There would be time later. She hoped.
The van slowed and turned left off the highway onto a road rutted with rocks and stones. Georgia was jerked to one side, then the other. Was the damn road even paved? At a particularly powerful bump, she groaned instinctively.
“Hey, man,” the thug beside her said. “I just heard something. She’s awake.”
He didn’t use his partner’s name.
“Roger that. No problem,” the man from the front replied.
The van turned right, and the wheels crackled on gravel, slowed, and came to a stop. Georgia’s stomach lurched. She tried to inventory what she had available to make a stand, but she had no weapon, she was tied up, and she had no idea where she was or who her attackers were. She was helpless.
The engine died. The driver’s door opened, then slammed shut. The side panel door slid back with a squeak. The driver peered in. Georgia craned her neck, but his face was in shadow, and she couldn’t make out his features.
“Put the blindfold on,” he said to his companion and withdrew. The crunch of his footsteps on gravel receded. He didn’t want her to see him.
Georgia was still lying on her left side. The second man approached her from behind and tightened a rag over her eyes. It was a clumsy attempt. She didn’t resist.
“Have a nice ride?”
The gag was still in her mouth. She didn’t reply. The man nudged her in her ribs. “Hey. I’m talking to you. I know you’re awake.”
Georgia was even more convinced the first knockout drug was propofol—a fast-acting but short-lived drug used by doctors in the initial stage of anesthesia.
“So that’s the way you want to play it?” Did this jerk not realize she had a gag in her mouth and couldn’t speak?
He climbed out of the van. A moment later, he pulled her out of the van by her legs. She assumed he would pause once her torso was free so she could lever herself to a standing position. But he kept yanking her until her head bounced on the runner below the van’s door. At that point he tightened his grip on her legs, which made the back of her head hit the ground hard. Waves of pain, vertigo, and nausea flooded through her, and for a moment she thought she might go under again. She managed to hold on.
Footsteps scraped on the gravel. The driver was returning. She felt him untie whatever had bound her arms and feet, but he left the blindfold in place. “You’re gonna stand up now,” he said.
Each man grabbed one of her arms and pulled her upright. She promptly vomited through the gag and went limp.
“Goddammit!” The man who’d been in the back of the van yelled.
“Back off,” the driver said. “It’s the drug, asshole. And the whack on her head, thanks to you.”
The men tried to steady her, but she kept stumbling. She was desperately thirsty. The men slow-walked her forward.
Though the stink of her own vomit was strong, she eventually sniffed what she thought was fresh hay. She hadn’t smelled that clean, sunny scent since she was a little girl with her mother spending summers in Georgia. Hay meant farms. Cows. Horses. Maybe chickens.
The men stopped. One man restrained her while the other opened what sounded like a massive door. The scent of hay sharpened and mixed with horse manure. A barn. She heard the snuffles and grunts of animals. Horses. The men led her inside and pushed her down on a bed of prickly straw. Her balance was still rocky, and she slumped over.
“Dammit, asshole, you gotta prop her up.”
“Sorry, Reince.”
A quick hostile intake of breath from the driver. She had a clue. Two clues, in fact. A barn. A name. Three, if you included the van.
The driver propped her against a wall. “Okay, little miss PI. I’m gonna take the gag outta your mouth. You’re not gonna scream, right?” He laughed. “Actually you could, but there’s no one to hear you. Not for miles.”
She nodded. He removed the gag, but not the blindfold. She cleared her throat, which was raw and thick with vomit. “Why?” she croaked.
“You don’t say a word and we’ll keep this short and sweet. This is your only warning. Back off. Quit nosing around.”
“Do you have Carl Baldwin?” Her voice was hoarse.
A sudden sharp thwack across her face stung. The asshole had slapped her. It reverberated through her head like an echo chamber. Nausea climbed up her throat. Her head was spinning.
“I told you not to say a word. You understand?”
Georgia knew she should be frightened, but she only had room for one emotion at a time. Right now that emotion was rage. How dare he humiliate her like this? If they wanted to kill her, she would have been dead already. She shook her head. “I want to know—”
He cut her off with another blow. She went slack. Pain overwhelmed her. She shouldn’t have provoked them. She wanted to lie down. Go to sleep.
“Do you understand?”
This time she tried to nod. She wasn’t sure her head actually moved, but it must have because there were no more blows, and the driver spoke.
“You’re in way over your head, missy. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
She didn’t react.
“So you go on back to Chicago and tell Mrs. Baldwin you’re done. Finished. Stop digging around. What’s done is done. She can’t bring back her daughter, and neither can you. Got that?”
She didn’t reply, but apparently he thought she received the message.
“And just in case you don’t believe me, we know all of you and how to find you. Erica Baldwin, Paul Kelly, Jimmy Saclarides. Oh yeah. We know about your sister and your mother, too.”
Georgia’s gut twisted.
He let that sink in. “Now you’re gonna go back under. And when you wake up, you get yourself the fuck out of Dodge and back to Chicago.”
Before she had a chance to reply, another sharp pain stabbed her arm. She fell into darkness.