Mark shrugged. “Only when it was convenient. And the location you’d scouted out in central Arkansas was very convenient. Those radical survivalists love that area—and they were willing to pay very well to buy the weapons they thought they needed to defend their turf. All I had to do was plug in to a few connections in stolen military weapons, set up a few meetings on the side when you made your boring real-estate deals and cash in the profits. But you had to screw everything up. You had to bring her into it. Damn it, Damien, she isn’t half the woman you usually go after. She’s passable, but hardly world class.”
“Shut up, Mark.” For the first time since she’d known him, Damien sounded dangerous to Celia. There was raw fury overlying the pain in his eyes now.
Mark snorted. “Still fancy yourself in love with her, Damien? Even when she’s screwing someone else? God, how did you ever get where you were without my help?”
“I was doing just fine before I hired you,” Damien replied coldly. “And I’ll still be doing just fine when you’re behind bars.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed. Celia tightened her fingers on Damien’s arm, warningly.
Mark looked at Celia. The indulgent affability had left his voice completely now. He sounded hard. Mean. “Where’s your boyfriend? Your other boyfriend? The cop?”
She met his eyes without flinching. “I don’t know. He ran off and left me behind.”
“I don’t believe you. He’s somewhere nearby, isn’t he?”
Celia had to make an effort not to glance toward the slightly opened door. “I don’t know,” she repeated.
Mark motioned again with the gun. “Come here.”
Damien quickly covered Celia’s hand with his own. “Stay where you are, Celia.”
Mark coolly aimed the weapon at Damien’s forehead. He flicked Celia only a glance. “I said come here.”
“What are you going to do?” Celia asked, hesitating. She didn’t want Damien hurt, and she had no question that Mark would pull the trigger. But she didn’t want to blindly step into danger, either. She just knew Reed and Kyle were making their plans. If only she could stall long enough to give them a chance to rescue her.
“I’m just providing myself with a little insurance, as they say in the gangster movies,” Mark said with a twisted smile.
“Do I need to point out that it rarely works in the gangster movies?” Damien asked quietly, still holding Celia’s hand.
Mark shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve got any other choice,” he said bitterly. “Get over here, Celia. Damien, you get on the phone. Start making the arrangements. And maybe you’d better let everyone know that I’m not fooling around here. If one thing goes wrong, she’s dead. And so are you.”
Celia and Damien didn’t move. They looked at each other, neither certain what to do.
Reed? Where are you? What are you doing? Celia hoped her mental message somehow made its way to him.
An ominous clicking sound came from the gun. Celia had watched enough of those gangster films they’d mentioned to recognize the sound. Mark was prepared to shoot Damien, and then proceed from there.
“Now, Celia,” Mark said.
Celia pulled her hand from Damien’s and took a step toward Mark.
Damien reached out automatically to stop her. She shrugged off his hand. “Be careful, Damien,” she whispered, her eyes locked with Mark’s.
“Good advice, Damien,” Mark mocked. “Be very careful.”
The moment Celia stepped within reach, he grabbed her, his fingers digging brutally into her wrist as he pulled her in front of him. She stumbled, and he jerked her upright, bending her arm behind her as he did so. She couldn’t help gasping at the sharp pain in her twisted arm.
Damien automatically m
oved toward them. Mark stopped him by holding the barrel of the gun to Celia’s forehead.
“Do you really want to risk this, Damien?” he asked, and there was a new undercurrent of desperation in his voice.
Celia knew it was important to keep him calm. Panic was much too dangerous when his unsteady finger was curled around the trigger. “I’m okay, Damien,” she said breathlessly, trying to ignore the throbbing in the arm Mark still held behind her.
“Make the calls,” Mark said, motioning sharply toward the phone. “Get the helicopter here. Hope you’re not as afraid of helicopters as you are of parachutes, Celia,” he added derisively. “You’ll be going with me for the first part of the trip, of course.”
Even though she knew Reed would intercede before that became necessary—she simply had to believe it—Celia felt a cold knot of fear settle deep inside her.