Cara’s eyes were clearing up, while the back of her head still throbbed like a massive hangover. Her feet were bound together, but the rest of her seemed unrestricted.
“You move, you die,” came a male voice.
“You scream, you die,” said another voice, both with the same accent.
“You have a very small vocabulary,” Cara said, watching the ceiling fan turn slowly. “The sign of low intelligence.”
“Try going to Chechnya and see how stupid you sound there.”
Cara listened for the location of the voices, trying to figure out an escape plan. “Good answer,” she said. “Tell me, have either of you ever been to prison?”
No response.
“Because it’s not the physical toll it takes on your body. It’s the mental strain that gets you. All those days caged up like a lion. It’s not something you can forget for the rest of your life. Your family will—”
“Shut up.”
The metallic taste in her mouth lingered as her tongue moved around.
“Is it possible to have some water?” she asked.
There was some movement, then the sound of a faucet running.
“Here,” a guy said, holding up a glass of water.
Cara stretched her body upward to a sitting position before reaching out for the glass.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a deep breath before swallowing the warm water. She tugged on her legs and saw them taped together. She touched the bandage on her thigh and winced.
One of the men sat on a chair across from her to her left. The other stood by the island bar separating the kitchen from the living room. The man in the chair had a pistol in his lap.
She looked at the coffee table in front of her and saw four brown pills.
“Advil for the pain,” the island bar guy said.
She reached down for the pills and felt her head throb even worse. When she examined the pills, they had Advil etched on one side, so she swallowed them and drank her water.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Time to shut up and wait,” the chair guy said.
“Wait for what?”
The island bar guy said, “We’re not going to answer your questions, so stop asking. We are not stupid. The less you know, the better.”
“Better for whom?”
Nothing.
“You know Tommy will find you, right?” she said. “He’ll use his cousin’s resources at the FBI and he will find you.”
“What about you?” chair guy said. “Aren’t you concerned he may not find you?”
“I don’t need to be found. I know who I am.”
The two guys looked at each other.
Cara sighed. “You think you’re going to use me for ransom?”
“Something like that,” chair guy said, then received a glare from the island bar guy.
“There’s an old Sicilian saying,” Cara said. “If the sun is shining but there’s rain coming down, you’re not thinking about the cloud, but the cloud is thinking about you.”
“What does that mean?” chair guy said. “The Italians are pissing on us? Is that what you are saying?”
“Be quiet, Madril,” island bar guy chided. He looked over at Cara and said, “You do not seem afraid.”
“Don’t confuse my apathy for lack of concern for my safety. It’s just that I have an abundance of faith.”
“Faith? As in spiritual faith?”
“No, my faith in Tommy.”
“Ah, the boyfriend again. You think he is your savior?”
“No, I just know when the time comes, he’ll do the right thing. And I’m comfortable with that.”
“That sounds desperate.”
She looked at island bar guy, who seemed to be in charge. “You guys killed my father.” A statement. Not a question.
Island bar guy just stared. Nothing in his face.
Cara sighed. “Let’s see who’s desperate by the end of the night.”