The Collection (2 page)

Chapter 2

Statistics show that America is the safest country in the world. The number of attacks against women is 93 percent lower than the world average.

—
American Gazette

The jeep bounced up and down against the gravel road. They drove along the coast and Andrew kept his eyes glued on the ocean. His wrist hurt where it was handcuffed to the roll bar at the top of the vehicle. It made it difficult for him to sit down. Carter didn't have the option of trying to sit. His cuffed hands forced him to squat inches above the bench.

The open top created a wind tunnel, making conversation impossible. Andrew was left alone with his thoughts. He'd abandoned Mia. She was alone, trapped between two rocks. When his captors pointed their guns at him, he hadn't had time to react. Saving her would be impossible. He hoped she'd made it out okay and told himself he had done the right thing by leaving her.

They started slowing down. Andrew looked ahead; there was a town coming up. Instead of taking the road straight, the jeep veered left, closer to the coast. They drove outside the tiny village and the road started descending. Soon they were driving along a sandy beach and the speed picked back up. Sand was flying into Andrew's face. He tried to keep his head down and avoid the assault of the tiny flecks, but it wasn't doing much good.

He felt something slide over his head. He fought, but part of him welcomed the shield. He opened his eyes again; now he was surrounded by darkness. Andrew tried his best to count and pay attention to the turns. If he knew the amount of time it was taking to travel then he could get back to the beach and back to Mia.

Mia. Her face kept creeping into his mind. Her eyes had been wide and brimming with tears, her chin shaking, and he had left her. Andrew told himself not to focus on that now.
Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four.
Could she get out of there? It seemed like such a good hiding spot.
Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.
How could he have let this happen?
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.

It was useless; Andrew couldn't keep count. He couldn't focus on anything. His lack of control was more aggravating than the situation he found himself in. They started to slow down again. Andrew hoped that meant the bag would come off, but no effort was made to release the hood. The deceleration continued and soon they came to a stop. The motor was turned off and Andrew's ears rang. The front doors opened and someone unlocked his cuffs.

Andrew formed a fist and tried to punch whoever was assisting him but failed to make contact due to his blindness. His body lurched forward and Andrew was hanging over the car door.

“Whoa,” the man said. “This guy's ready for action.”

Before Andrew could attack again his hands were pinned behind his back and recuffed. At the same moment the car door was opened and he fell to the ground. His assailants snickered. They left him there and went to Carter. If Andrew's companion tried to put up a fight he made no noise in the process. Andrew tried to find the balance to stand up again, but before he could someone grabbed on to his elbow and hoisted him up.

He was being walked. Andrew was so unsure of his surroundings. He tried to listen for clues, but his hearing was still off from the wind. In the distance he swore he heard someone counting off. The walking stopped and Andrew was released.

“Welcome home,” his captor said.

The black hood was yanked off. Andrew blinked uncontrollably while his eyes readjusted to the light. They were on a ledge, looking over a huge training facility. Andrew's eyes focused on the man counting off. There was a group of twenty or thirty men doing push-ups in sync with his numbers. Farther down there was an obstacle course and another group of men running as a unit around a large track.

Andrew's heart jumped. This was what he imagined basic training to look like. This was what he'd spent his whole life looking forward to: being part of a team and belonging. Training and working for a cause. That dream had vanished, but part of it was etched too deep to erase.

“Are we in America?” Carter asked.

“Better,” their captor said. “You two are the newest recruits in the Mexico Militia.”

Chapter 3

What about the problems plaguing our own country? Unemployment? The crime rate? Let's fix our homes first before wasting money overseas.

—Comment from the
Global Reporter
message board

A teakettle whistled. The sound was an alarm clock to Mia and her eyes fluttered open. She was on a small cot, with a blanket up to her chin. She forced herself up on her elbows and the blanket fell down. Her tattered pink sundress was gone; she was in a white tank top and shorts. Her hands were bandaged.

“You're awake.” A voice filled the room.

Mia snapped her head up and saw the woman in black. She had curly red hair, and what Mia had taken for a tight dress was actually shorts and a tank top. She was tall and lean, her skin covered with freckles. Mia guessed the woman was in her thirties.

“Where am I?” Mia asked.

The woman offered a cup of tea. When Mia didn't grab it she set it down on a small table next to the bed. The woman walked across the room and pulled over a chair.

“I hope you don't mind I cleaned you up,” she said. Her voice was unusual. She didn't have the same accent as the man who took Andrew and Carter.

“I need to find my friends,” Mia said.

Mia pulled the blanket off her and saw that her knees were covered with bandages.

“What's your plan?”

“What do you mean?” Mia said. “You can't keep me here.”

“Nobody is keeping you anywhere,” she said. “But if you need to find your friends, what is your plan?”

“I don't know,” Mia said. “Follow the tracks from the car that took them?”

“Is that a question?” she asked. “Because the answer would be, what time did the car leave? What direction did it head?”

“I don't know,” Mia said.

“Well, sit and have some tea,” she said. “What's your name?”

Mia was uncomfortable. She didn't know how to respond. She didn't understand so much of what had happened.

“Where's your husband?” Mia asked.

The woman let out a small laugh. “Are you a mind reader?” she asked.

“No,” Mia said. “I've never seen an unmarried woman live like this.”

“In a one-bedroom shack?”

“Alone,” Mia said.

“You are an American refugee,” she said. “That's what I thought. In most parts of the world—not all, but most—women can live with or without whoever they want.”

“Are you from Mexico?” Mia asked.

“Ireland,” she said. “Where women aren't equal to men—they're slightly better.”

Mia let out a nervous laugh and the woman joined her. Mia had so many questions, not just about what had happened to Carter and Andrew. She heard her stomach growl. The hostess stood up and went to the far side of the shack. There was a tiny kitchen. A small hot plate for a stove and a cooler for a fridge. Mia looked around the small space. There were candles and a desk. No electricity. The redhead returned with a napkin filled with cookies.

“Best I can offer you right now,” she said.

“How did I get here?” Mia asked before taking a bite.

“I heard the helicopter, saw it crash, and was scavenging the area. You threw some nice things out of that aircraft. Imagine my surprise when I saw a hand waving at me from the cliff. I was walking over when you must have forced yourself up. You were falling, so I ran to help. The thanks I get? You passing out on me.”

“Thank you,” Mia said.

“No,” she said. “Thank you. I got several new pieces of ammunition.”

The guns. Mia shivered. Grant's guns. Mia's former betrothed was the king of weapons. She looked over at the redhead, wondering what this woman could need them for.

“I'm Riley,” she said. “I know what you're thinking, it's a boy's name, but my parents wanted a son.”

“They wanted a son?” Mia asked.

“Carry on the family name,” Riley said. “In most—not all, but most—parts of the world, parents are happy with a son or a daughter.”

This made Mia smile. She was in that part of the world now.

“I'm Mia,” she said.

“Well, Mia the American girl, it is nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Mia said.

There was so much more Mia wanted to know about this woman. Questions started filling Mia's head too fast for her to process them. Right as she was on the verge of exploding with curiosity her priorities came back to mind.

“I really need to find my friends,” Mia said. “Someone took them.”

“Who?” Riley asked.

“A man,” Mia said. “I didn't see his face. I stayed hidden. I didn't do anything to help them.”

“Were your friends girls?”

Mia shook her head.

Riley let out a sigh of relief.

“Then your friends are fine, part of the Collection now,” Riley said.

“What do you mean?” Mia asked.

“You can't help them tonight.”

“I have to,” Mia said. “They need me.”

“Need you to what?” Riley said. “To get yourself kidnapped? This is a very dangerous place.”

“I can't stay here,” Mia said. “I froze. I could have thrown a rock or done something, but I didn't. Now they're missing.”

“They're not missing,” Riley said. “I know where they are.”

“Take me to them,” Mia said. “Please.”

Riley let out a breath. “No.”

“Why not?” Mia felt the tears forming. “Please.”

“You know why I am still alive? Living free in this place?” Riley asked. “Because nobody knows I'm here. There are lots of things you don't understand.”

Mia ignored Riley and stood up. She walked toward the door. The aches came back full force. Riley rose.

“If you leave here, when you come back I'll be gone,” Riley said. “If you stay and learn some patience, I'll help you find your friends. I promise you they're safe.”

Mia's back was to Riley. She stopped and tried to process the situation. Mia was in a strange place and didn't have a clue how to proceed. This woman wasn't offering her the help she wanted, but it was help nonetheless. Mia spun around. Riley's face relaxed into a smile.

“Why are you helping me?” Mia asked.

“Because you haven't given me a reason not to,” Riley said.

Tears rolled down Mia's cheeks. She didn't know if they were from grief or gratitude.

“Come back over here and have a seat,” Riley said. “You tell me your story and I'll tell you mine. Then in the morning we'll make some progress on getting your friends back.”

It was wrong for Mia to feel happiness over talking with Riley, a free woman, when Andrew and Carter were being held captive somewhere. But she couldn't battle the eagerness she felt for this conversation. She told herself it was all right. Riley knew where her friends were and had promised their safety. With little hesitation Mia went back to the bed.

“It all started this past year,” Mia said. “My sister burst through our front door soaking wet . . .”

Chapter 4

AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY: GRANT MARSDEN WIDOWER BEFORE THIRTY

—
American Gazette

The tie felt like it was choking the life out of Grant. He sat in the waiting room, an armed guard watching over him. It was obvious this young man was meant to intimidate Grant, but he had little effect. The suit was more bothersome.

It had been twenty-four hours since Amelia Morrissey and her two lost boys bested him. The memory made Grant's insides burn. It wasn't his fault though. The RAG agents who had raided the Rowe house, where she had been hiding, were responsible. Grant had seen to it that they received their punishment: death by his hand.

Grant was sure this hearing was only a formality. After the emergency, escape crews were on the scene in seconds. Grant's injuries were minor. A few bruised ribs and some scrapes. He had gone to the hospital mainly to get showered and to ready a private plane for his return. He was shocked when an armed guard met him there.

Instead of his luxurious jet, Grant was forced to travel up to the capital in a military helicopter, one of his designs that he was trying to improve. Even though Grant's residence was less than an hour outside the city, his request to change into his own clothing was denied. This cheap suit had been brought to him instead. It barely fit and the fabric irritated his skin.

The door to the courtroom opened up. A man dressed in the same attire as Grant held the door. Grant rose and was waved inside the tribunal. The room was dark. There was one long bench; he went to stand behind it. Leonard, the head RAG agent, who had done little to help Grant in capturing Amelia, was already standing there. He wore a smug look on his face. Grant wanted to slap it off.

Grant took his place next to Leonard and looked at the judges. He recognized four of them immediately. They were the heads of the army, air force, navy, and marines. Grant had dealt with them personally on many occasions. He was on a first-name basis with all the older men. His eyes stopped when he saw the fifth judge.

Without hesitation Grant lowered his head and dropped to one knee. It was the grand commander himself. Now Grant's nerves kicked in. This was more serious than he had thought. Never in his life had Grant imagined being in the same room as the grand commander, let alone on the wrong side of the bench from him.

“Please rise,” the grand commander said.

Grant stood up but didn't raise his head. This man deserved every bit of respect he could muster, and Grant was going to honor that.

“Grant Marsden,” the grand commander said. “Your wife fled the country. According to this Recovery of Abducted Girls agent you had multiple opportunities to stop her and chose to ignore your options.”

Fire rose through Grant. How dare Leonard try to pin this on him? Grant thought about moving the blame back to where it was most deserved but didn't think the grand commander wanted a game of he-said.

“Please respond to these allegations.”

“Amelia Morrissey did not flee,” Grant said. “She was abducted by a deranged truck driver and tragically lost her life in the rescue attempt.”

Grant thought about the trucker who had died by Andrew's hand. He made the perfect scapegoat, giving Grant the chance to blame Mia's disappearance on someone. The room was quiet. Grant raised his head and looked at the judges. He was certain they knew he was lying, but this story would be easier for them to spin than one involving Mia's escape over the border. Grant felt a rush of boldness and decided to speak further, making sure the group was aware of his true plans.

“With your permission I would like to recover her body.”

There was some discussion among the judges at this point. Their chairs were on a platform several feet high. The only light in the room illuminated their faces, giving them a commanding presence.

“It is true,” the grand commander said. “Amelia did lose her life in a rescue attempt. It is wise of you to realize this.”

The man looked down at Grant with raised eyebrows, indicating he knew this was a charade as well. The grand commander gave a wave of his hand. Leonard let out a small groan before slumping over the bench. His body continued to fall and then hit the ground. Grant's eyes went back toward the door. The man in the suit was putting his gun away.

“That, Mr. Marsden, is one of my favorite toys,” the grand commander said. “The silent bullet. Before there was the silencer, but it still had that small whizzing noise. Now there's no sound at all, making it impossible for the victim to have even one second's notice of his fate. How did you create that?”

Grant felt his lips curve into a smile. The grand commander knew of his inventions.

“I'll have to take some with me to help bring my wife's body back,” Grant said.

“No,” the grand commander said. “Her body was destroyed in the rescue attempt.”

Confusion started to work its way into Grant's brain. He didn't appreciate the lack of understanding; it wasn't something he was familiar with.

“There is no need to speak in codes any longer,” the grand commander said. “You were partly at fault in this situation and you will receive a fitting punishment.

“Taking into consideration the advancements you have made for your brothers and country, along with the failure of the RAG bureau, a decision has been made. You are forbidden to leave the country. All travel is suspended.”

Grant braced himself for the rest. But no other sound was made. If this was all he was facing, Grant was getting off light. He didn't appreciate that though. Knowing that Mia was out there living after betraying him was infuriating. She needed to be punished as well.

“Sir,” Grant said, “I think it is in the country's best interest that Amelia be killed. What if she makes a public appearance elsewhere?”

“You think one little girl is going to make any difference?” the grand commander said. “Most likely she died trying to land that contraption you built. It would be a waste of our resources. Get her out of your mind. She beat you; move on.”

Nobody beats Grant Marsden.
He scowled at the comment.

“There was some media attention drawn to her abduction. You will play the role of the grieving widower. Talk about how you loved her and what a sad end she met. Young girls will swoon over you and they will take heed of Amelia's story. You're a public hero now. Congratulations.”

This did not sit well with Grant. Grieve? Over a woman? Never.

“Once a sufficient amount of time has passed you will announce your engagement to one of my daughters,” the grand commander said.

Grant's mouth hung open. All the men seated in this room were married to the spawn of the grand commander. It was an honor and meant the groom was slated for big things.

“That is all for today,” the grand commander said. He rose and the rest of the panel followed him toward a door at the back of the room. He ushered them out, leaving Grant speechless.

“Someone will be in contact with you shortly,” the grand commander said. “Your first appearance is scheduled for tomorrow. Close your mouth.”

Grant snapped his jaw shut. The door slammed closed and a side door opened. He walked back out into the waiting room, giddy with what the future had in store for him. His happiness was facing a small obstacle though.
She beat you.
The words stung. The game wasn't over yet, and Grant knew just what he needed to ensure victory.