Pure Dynamite by Lauren Bach Page A

locked up without social contact—without female contact. He could imagine the direction of her fears.
    "You're riding in the front, but you do have to keep down," he said. "You also have to stay tied."
    "Don't." She tried to dart away, but he stopped her. Catching her wrists, he bound them with a strip of gauze he'd stashed in his pocket earlier.
    "Jumping from a moving car could mess you up," he warned dispassionately. "If it didn't kill you, that is."
    "I won't jump." It was a lie. First chance she got, she would try to get away.
    "Good." Tugging her upper arm, he pulled her to the passenger door. When she opened her mouth to complain, he cut her off. "I hope it won't be necessary to gag you."
    Frustrated, Renata swallowed her protests and climbed into the car. Bide your time, your moment will come, she told herself.
    As they pulled out, she looked back at the clinic. The lights were off, the door locked. With her car gone, nothing looked suspicious. If the police did go door- to-door they wouldn't suspect anything. And if Clarence returned he'd simply think she'd gone home on her own.
    Her hopes sank even further as she recalled that she worked second shift tomorrow. It could be late afternoon before anyone even missed her. How long after that before someone called the police? And unless they suspected foul play, what was the rule on reporting missing adults? Forty-eight hours?
    She closed her eyes, offered a brief prayer for her own safety.

    The trip to Yanceyville, a sleepy community about an hour north, was uneventful except for the gusty winds and rain that steadily increased. Between the flood and the false Fayetteville sighting Renata phoned in, the cops were busy elsewhere.
    Adam watched the rearview mirror, wondered if Ethan's men were trailing them or simply monitoring the tracking device. He hoped the latter, not wanting to arouse suspicion.
    Jessup's Truck Stop was the only business on that particular stretch of highway. Surrounded by dark woods and pastures, the parking lot was crowded with eighteen-wheelers in spite of the large spray-painted sign that read "NO GAS." Many of the trucks were probably stranded until road conditions cleared and fuel was available; others were waiting for businesses to reopen, or for instructions where to leave their freight.
    In the back of the lot sat a white Buick LaSabre with dark tinted windows. Adam parked Renata's car and approached the Buick cautiously.
    Inside was a sheet of paper with typed instructions. A handwritten postscript said supplies in trunk . Adam read the directions, memorizing what he could. They were headed toward the Appalachian Mountains, to a rural area of northern Virginia. He hoped all the roads between here and there were passable.
    He checked the contents of the Buick's trunk to make certain Nevin hadn't left another handgun. A cooler sat beside a flashlight and a coil of rope. A pair of handcuffs, key in the lock, was included along with some clothes for Lyle and a bottle of prescription painkillers.
    Adam read the bottle's label. The powerful narcotic was familiar. It received a lot of press about its potential for abuse. The street demand for the drug was so high many small pharmacies refused to carry it after being targeted for break-ins.
    The cooler held water, some peanut butter, crackers and a pocketknife. No ice. Judging by these supplies, they weren't expected to be on the road long. He slid the knife in his pocket along with the prescription.
    Behind him, someone coughed.
    Adam spun around, gun drawn. He scanned the shadowy tree line. While he couldn't see anyone, he sensed a person about twenty feet to his left. He raised his gun, finger on the trigger. If it was Ethan's men again, he'd shoot them.
    "Come out, slowly."
    "Easy there." A wiry man not much older than Lyle, stepped forward, a rifle in hand. "I'm a friend of Nevin's."
    Adam lowered his weapon.
    The man did likewise. "Just verifying it was you. We get our share of riffraff