Page 69 of Red Line

The doors slammed.

Elena and Red were alone in the back of the windowless van.

Surely, the kitchen staff were raising the alarm. When they did, the police would swarm.

Surely, Grey was done in the damned bathroom. As he came down the hallway, he’d see the stunned and confused catering staff racing out of the kitchen. He’d check his app and see the phones in the alley where Red imagined the team had tossed them. It wouldn’t help Grey to find her, but it would let him know to look. And Langley had systems for that.

Miracles happened.

She just needed to survive and keep Elena alive until they did.

In the darkness, Red heard Elena whisper, “Who are you?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Nomad

Nomad had watched Elena take flight through the ballroom.

Not-Mrs. Bland had been right on her heels. Though she stayed in character, to his eye, she was definitely racing after Elena. What Nomad couldn’t tell was if it not-Mrs. Bland was a menace or a help to Elena.

Getting to them had been a game of bumper cars as he dodged the now very tipsy revelers.

By the time Nomad got to the hall and pressed through the kitchen door, he found the staff huddled in the back corner, sobbing and yelling. Quickly enough, he understood two women had been kidnapped at gunpoint.

There was a blood smear on the floor. Some blood, but not a life-threatening amount.

“Who was bleeding?” Nomad demanded.

“One woman fought and failed. They dragged them away.” She pointed to the exit. Nomad grabbed the handle and yanked the door wide. The alley was empty. “How many people were taken?”

“Two women,” the chef said, climbing to his feet, cookie sheet shield grasped in his hands.

“How many dragged the women away?”

There was a conference as they worked out the number. “Four,” a woman said. Three fighters and another one with a long gun.” But she drew her hands out in a way that Nomad understood she didn’t mean it was a rifle but a gun that was longer than usual. The gunman had a silencer.

“What were these women wearing?” Nomad asked just to be sure Elena was in the mix.

“Slim black dress. There’s her tiara.”

Nomad turned in the direction of the woman’s pointed finger. Yes, that belonged to Elena.

“And then a big red dress. She was the lady who fought,” the woman continued.

“She knew how to fight,” a man said. “She knew what she was doing.”

“Broke that one man’s arm with the skillet.”

“Yes, that’s right. She broke his arm. The blood on the floor was from the other man.” The woman reached up and touched the back of her head, where Nomad assumed the kidnapper had been hit.

“But the man with the gun … She could not stop that,” the chef concluded.

Another man was on his feet. “One of our catering vans was out there, but I heard the motor start, and they drove away.”

“There’s nothing out there now. Can you describe the van to me?” Time was ticking. Nomad needed to be on the move. “Do you have a picture? The license plate number?”

“Yes. Yes. We took a picture of us as we were unloading that one.” He held up his phone, and Nomad took a picture of the image, turned, and ran out of the kitchen, down the hall, up the stairs, and out the front door.

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