Wrath's Storm: A Masters' Admiralty Novel by Mari Carr (desktop ebook reader .txt) 📕

Annalise panicked, backpedaling. She knocked into her stalker and he teetered in the open doorway. If she was lucky, he’d fall hard enough to be knocked senseless and give her a chance to escape.

But she wasn’t lucky, or maybe he was too focused, too prepared. He caught himself on the doorframe and then shoved her forward. Annalise stumbled into the table, winding herself when her lower abdomen hit the edge.

He shoved her sideways, sending her sprawling on the bench. Then one of her arms was jerked up and back. A click and the cold metal of a handcuff encircled her wrist.

The caravan door closed, sealing them together in utter darkness.

Annalise had never felt so small, so scared.

There was no steel door, no Jakob.

No hope.

All she had was herself…and a doctorate in abnormal psychology.

Annalise forced herself to sit up, then cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice was calm. “Could you turn on a light, please?”

A moment later, lights clicked on. The small camper was elegant inside, with polished wood compartments and recessed lighting. There was a double bed at the back, which she ignored, even as dread and fear formed a tight ball in her gut.

Annalise tugged her shirt down so the front was smooth, brushed back her hair, and dropped the wrist bearing the cuff onto her lap, out of sight. As she moved, the chain slid from the table top, falling onto her lap and to the floor, pooling around the base of the metal table leg to which it was attached.

With no outward signs of either fear or her captive status, Annalise looked at her stalker.

The rage and aggression he’d displayed outside retreated, leaving him looking a little nervous.

“This is quite lovely.” She gestured around with her free hand. “How did you select this particular model of caravan?”

“Oh, um, I thought you would like the wood details.” He smiled, seemingly pleased to be discussing his choices. “And I wanted to make sure we had some place to cook and to eat.” He turned toward the bed, and her stomach lurched. “Those fold up into a couch and a desk. I knew you’d want to be able to work.”

“Can you show me the desk?” Annalise asked, forcing mild curiosity into her voice.

“Of course, Anna. Of course.”

While her stalker went to fold up and stow the bed—which proved to be two single beds, allowing it to essentially split in half for storage—Annalise forced herself to take calming breaths and then to assess the behaviors he’d just displayed.

She was about to use her knowledge and skills to manipulate, and possibly mentally harm, this man. It went against both professional ethical principles and her own personal ethics. She would do this man harm, and since, unlike Jakob, she couldn’t harm him physically, she’d do it mentally.

And she just had to hope that whatever she did would be enough to give Jakob and Walt time to find her.

Vadisk was driving, and they were all going to die. Walt braced his back against one rear door, his foot on the other, and held on for dear life. Jakob—still in talky mode—was in the front passenger seat and had only stopped talking so they could hear the directions being called out by a man named Dimitri, who had a slight Ukrainian accent, his voice coming through the car’s speakers.

Dimitri was, apparently, someone of considerable power and authority—Vadisk called him “sir”—who also had access to every security camera in and around Krakow.

“No, he did take that exit. Go back,” Dimitri said.

Vadisk screeched to a halt. “Check,” he barked at Jakob.

Jakob swiveled, put a hand on Walt’s head, pushed him down, and looked out the back window. “Go,” Jakob commanded.

Vadisk threw the car into reverse and hit the gas. Walt thought it might be a good time to switch from agnostic back to the God-fearing Methodist his mama had raised him to be. He needed Jesus to take the wheel from Vadisk.

There were some honks and the car lurched to a stop, then shot forward again, taking a curve so fast, the G-forces pushed Walt even harder against the door.

“What else do we know about him?” Jakob asked, his voice calm, and maybe even a little chipper.

“Axel Richen. Age twenty-nine. German national with no living relatives. Software developer,” Dimitri said.

They knew that much already—Vadisk had read out stats as they raced from the hotel room to his car.

“No known connection to Dr. Fischer,” Dimitri continued.

“There wouldn’t be. Annalise didn’t have any exes who fit the profile of a rejected stalker subtype, and we looked at other associates.”

Walt raised his head enough to look at Jakob.

“I tried to find him,” Jakob said. “We looked at everyone she knew.”

“She worked for the police,” Vadisk said. “Revenge?”

“That would be the resentful subtype, and we looked into that too. I went through every case she worked on.”

Vadisk looked over at Jakob. “You went through every single casefile and checked out each man who might want revenge on her?”

“Yes.”

“That’s dedication.” Vadisk sounded shocked.

“I love her,” Jakob declared softly. “I would have killed each possible suspect on the off chance it would keep her safe. If my imprisonment wouldn’t have also meant leaving her unprotected, of course.”

“No killing. Killing bad,” Walt said.

Vadisk, Jakob, and Dimitri all laughed.

Well, that was really fucking scary…

“He’s headed out of the city. Toward an undeveloped area,” Dimitri said. “We have the car on a highway camera about ten kilometers in front of you. There isn’t going to be much after this.”

“Keep looking,” Jakob demanded.

“I’m not going to take offense at that,” Dimitri said mildly.

“Faster,” Jakob demanded of Vadisk. “The longer he has her…”

Walt’s stomach sank. She’d already been gone nearly two hours. He couldn’t think about what Annalise might be going through right now. If he did, he’d start sobbing or raging, and neither reaction was helpful.

Vadisk put his foot down, and the car picked up speed.

Chapter Thirteen

Annalise set down the cup of coffee, smiling at the man. “Just the way I like it.”

He grinned,