Hidden Currents by Christine Feehan Page A

forward to give Tom entry and cover. They went forward in standard search-and-clear formation as they moved through the rows of wires until they heard the sound of voices.
    “Yes, Mr. Gratsos,” the disembodied male voice said, “he’s telling me they want to leave anyway. The weather is growing worse and they’re afraid of getting stuck here. Our regular workers were unavailable, they’d already gone home in anticipation of the storm.”
    There was a short silence and then the guard sighed heavily. “Of course, Mr. Gratsos, we searched them. There were no weapons on them.”
    Another silence followed, this one briefer than the first. “There are three because one is serving an apprenticeship.” The guard fought to keep exasperation out of his voice. “Yes, sir. They’ll have to work fast to stay ahead of the storm.” His voice lowered. “We may have to put them up for the night.”
    Matt crept around the floor-to-ceiling rows, trusting Tom to take out the guard when he finished his conversation with Gratsos. His entire being was focused on the safety of team one. The three men faced him, fingers locked behind their heads, all looking indignant. Kent looked especially annoyed, his brows pulled together as he glared at the guard who had his back to Matt.
    “We can leave,” he snarled. “This is bullshit.”
    “Have patience.” The guard sounded bored. “He’s checking your IDs.”
    Kent looked at the other two. “What does he think we plan to do? Steal with all you guards around?”
    Something heavy fell on the floor in the direction of the guard who was calling Gratsos. “Clear here,” Tom’s voice confirmed in Matt’s ear.
    Matt cleared his throat. The guard pointing his weapon at team one swung around, his finger tightening on the trigger instinctively. Matt shot him. “Let’s go. We need to disable the generator.”
     
     
     
    ELLE pried open her eyelids, forcing herself to take short, shallow breaths to ease the pain in her body. She’d tried to warn the doctor they’d brought in, and that had earned her another beating. She hadn’t saved him. She hadn’t saved anyone—least of all herself. She was certain Stavros might have killed her—he was enraged by her resistance—if it hadn’t been for Sid. The bodyguard had once again stepped in and saved her, although she wasn’t certain why. She had seen the look on his face, and for a moment she’d thought he might actually kill his boss when, hearing her screams, he had broken into the room, risking his own life.
    Stavros killed easily, yet he refused to even argue with Sid when Sid intervened. Stavros had walked out, shaking with anger, but still, he’d left Sid to pick up the pieces, trusting the bodyguard with her when he wouldn’t even allow his own brother to lay a finger on her. Sid had been gentle, washing her, checking her ribs, whispering to her in Russian, telling her to stop fighting, to just endure, to wait. For what? She didn’t even have a sense of time anymore.
    Elle wondered for the millionth time if she had dreamed Jackson’s voice. If anything was real. Everything around her seemed hazy and faraway. What had roused her from her semistupor, an urgent feeling that wouldn’t let go of her? She didn’t want to actually feel, or think; she wanted to slip back into that place where no one could touch her. But . . . She turned her face toward the long glass wall and looked out to the sea.
    The wind slammed against the building, rising to a shriek and then retreating, only to return with full force, knocking, again and again. Her breath caught in her throat. The wind. Watch for the wind . She tried to sit up and found she couldn’t move. She pulled experimentally at the cuffs on her wrists. He’d tied her to the bed. Stavros didn’t ever need a reason; he wanted her to know she existed at his whim—that whatever he chose to do, he would do, and she was powerless. He drove the point home to her often. He was tired of her