Page 10 of Unforeseen Mate
Fallon shrugged again. “You didn’t strike me as naive or stupid. So much for first impressions.”
Mrs. Crane made a sound like a growl as she stepped toward Fallon.
“Come ahead,” Fallon said, beckoning the woman with her hand. “In the interest of fairness, I should tell you that my friend Nora Blake taught me Krav Maga. She wanted to ensure I could defend myself.”
She wasn’t sure if it was hearing she knew Krav Maga or Nora’s name that halted Mrs. Crane’s advance. Whatever it was, the woman stopped dead in her tracks and retreated.
“The Master asked that I check on you. Food will be provided in due time.” Mrs. Crane started to withdraw and reached for the door handle.
“That’s fine. Just remember what I said.”
The door closed, and the key turned in the lock. Fallon shoved down her fear and focused. If she was to formulate a plan for escape, she would need to know much more about her captor, where she was being held as well as how many people there were, as well as whether or not they were involved with her kidnapping.
Fallon glanced at the full water bucket. Mrs. Crane had said it wasn’t tainted. If they’d gone to the trouble of kidnapping her, she must have or know something they needed her help with. It might be drugged to knock her out, but she doubted it would kill her. Staying alive was her first priority, and she couldn’t do that without water.
She leaned down and scooped up a ladle full of water, bringing it to her lips and sipping it slowly. It alleviated her dry mouth and parched throat. The desire to guzzle down another ladle full was tempting, but not knowing if she could believe Mrs. Crane or how long she’d been out, she felt discretion was the better part of valor. Fallon wiped her mouth, rubbing the excess moisture from her lips.
The room was getting brighter. It must be morning, but she still had no way of knowing how long she’d been out. Knowing that might give her some indication of how far they had taken her, although if they’d had access to a plane or chopper, that would throw her calculations off. First things first: how long had she been out?
She returned to the cot and its meager mattress and thin blanket. Lifting the blanket, she inhaled all along its length before leaning down to the bed and doing the same before exploring both with her hands. There was no sign of urine on thebed or her person, which told her it was the morning after her kidnapping. Good; at least she had a place to start.
Just as her stomach started to make rumbling noises, Fallon noticed a small opening in the door, like a very large peephole, which had a piece that fit over it. When it opened, Fallon could see both of his eyes and his eyebrows, but nothing else. The fitted piece allowed someone on the outside to see in to check on the prisoner within. She heard the key in the lock, and the door opened. Horace stood with a tray.
“Step back, and I’ll put it on the bed.”
Fallon moved to the furthest corner of the bed. Once she had done so, the lock in the door was opened and Horace pushed his way in, carrying a tray with food and a spoon—no pointy ends.
“Any chance I could get a table and chair? Maybe some kind of light source?” she asked politely.
Horace seemed to consider her request as he set the food down. “I’ll ask Mrs. Crane. Hopefully you won’t be here too long, but I can see where it might make it nicer for you. I’m not sure anyone wants to piss off the Ghost by hurting her friend.”
Without another word, he left her alone. She listened for the click of the lock and her heart sank just a bit to hear it click back into place. Her nostrils caught the scent of the food, and her belly reminded her it was empty. She grinned as she recognized what was on the plate: shepherd’s pie, glazed carrots, green beans and artisan brown bread. If this had been offered on a menu, it would have been Fallon’s choice. Sitting cross legged on the bed, she tucked in. She’d have to remember to ask for a cup or mug.
She didn’t know if Mrs. Crane was the cook, but whoever it was had a deft hand with what had been offered. It was delicious. Fallon made herself eat slowly but she devoured every bite, including sopping up the gravy from the shepherd’s pie with the last piece of bread. Arranging the plate and spoons on the tray,she placed it by the door, making sure whoever retrieved it could easily see she had returned everything she’d been given.
When Fallon heard the key turn in the lock, she moved back to her corner so she could be seen and perceived as a non-threat. The door opened and Horace bent to retrieve the tray.
“Horace,” she began, knowing she needed to start personalizing herself to her captors. “Could I also ask for a cup or mug so that when I eat, it’s easier for me to have water?”
“For somebody who’s being held prisoner, you sure want a lot.”
Fallon nodded. “I have to agree with you. Of all the things I’ve asked for, the cup and the light source are the most important to me, with the cup being first on the list.”
“Well, I don’t make the decisions, but I’ll ask. If your friend does what he wants, the Master will let you go.”
She shook her head. “My friend?”
“Yeah, Nora Blake.”
“What’s Nora got to do with this?”
“That’s why the Master took you. He’s using you to leverage Nora. I didn’t think anyone was important enough to her to be used against her. He’ll let you go once she goes back to doing what she’s told.”
Her friend Nora? She was one of the kindest people Fallon had ever known—always doing small things to make her smile.
“Nora is a travel writer. What could she possibly do for your boss?”
“A travel writer,” Horace snorted. “That’s a good one. Your friend is the Master’s top assassin, which, given the quality and quantity of those he keeps on retainer to eliminate people, says a lot. She’s known as the Ghost because no one ever sees her coming and no one knows what she looks like. In fact, most people think the Ghost is a man.”
