Carol Ericson - Trap, Secure

A male voice growled back at her. “Stay where you are.”

On shaky legs, Randi led Nicky and Angelina back to the carpet where they’d been reading. With her fingertips, she pushed them down. “Stay on the floor.”

She sidled against the wall until she reached the large window that overlooked the rolling back lawn of the property. The spotlights that usually glared brightly enough to pick out every blade of grass had been snuffed out. The crescent moon playing peekaboo with the clouds didn’t offer any illumination.

The stillness of the scene outside contrasted with the frantic activity below them. This sounded like more than one of Mr. Zendaris’s rampages.

Someone pounded on the nursery door. “Open up.”

Randi’s heart galloped in her chest, but she recognized the voice of one of Zendaris’s security guards, Costa. She didn’t like Costa, or his overpowering cologne, but at least he treated the children with care.

She crossed the room with Nicky and Angelina hanging on her arms. She unlocked the door and threw it open. “Costa, what is going on down there? It’s frightening the children.”

Sweat gleamed on Costa’s bald pate as he swooped down and swept up the kids, one in each massive arm. “You don’t worry about the kids anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Randi’s blood ran hot and pounded against her temples. “Nicky and Angelina are my responsibility.”

Nicky let loose with a long wail and Angelina looked like a wax figure clamped against Costa’s side, her gauzy pink scarf trailing on the floor.

Randi reached out to smooth Angelina’s soft curls from her face and drape the scarf over her head, but Costa jerked back toward the door. “Not anymore, mademoiselle.”

Nicky began to squirm and shriek. Adjusting his grip on the kids, Costa backed out of the room and kicked the door shut.

Randi lunged for the door and grabbed the handle. It turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. She banged on it with her fists. “Open this door. Let me out of here.”

Someone grunted on the other side of the door, and Randi knew she was a captive. But why? If Mr. Zendaris were just uprooting the kids again and taking them to one of his other homes, why imprison her in the nursery?

On other occasions he’d calmly informed her of his plans for the children and she’d taken the opportunity of their absence to stay with Abuelita for a while. She even accompanied Mr. Zendaris once or twice to Paris, Athens and Budapest.

What changed? Why the commotion downstairs? Why had she been sequestered in the nursery?

She pummeled the door, but only managed to hurt her hands. She scooped up Angelina’s scarf from the floor and wound it around her neck. Taking a turn around the room, she folded her arms across her chest, her fingers digging into her biceps.

A thwacking noise penetrated the room, and she ran to the window. A large, black helicopter descended from the darkened sky. Its lights illuminated the lawn and beyond the manicured grass to the dense foliage that ran to the high walls surrounding the property.

Randi’s breath hitched in her chest, and a chill snaked up her spine. Here and there, members of Zendaris’s security force were scattered along the wall, weapons clutched in their hands.

Was the compound under some kind of siege? And did Zendaris plan to leave her behind to face his enemies on her own?

The air in the room stifled her. She opened the French doors to the balcony that jutted over a flagstone path below. She needed fresh air and freedom, but this route offered no escape, two stories high and with no visible means of reaching the ground.

She wedged her hands on the flimsy railing that encircled the balcony. She’d prohibited the children from coming out here since very little stood between them and a long drop to the unforgiving flagstones.

The moist, heavy air caressed her skin, and she dragged in a breath. The sweet, milky smell of the carnations bordering the lawn tickled her nose just like on any other night.

But this was not any other night.

The helicopter had landed on the lawn, its blades whirring and stirring up debris that danced in the air. If her grandmother were still alive, Randi would go to her, but she’d died over a year ago and still Randi had stayed for the sake of the children. Now Nicky and Angelina had been ripped from her arms.

She heard voices and shuffling outside the nursery door, and she spun around to face the room. The door handle turned slowly, transfixing Randi’s gaze. She held her breath.

Montaña, one of Zendaris’s henchmen, poked his head into the room. In the three years she’d been in Mr. Zendaris’s employ, she hadn’t figured out if Montaña was this man’s real name or a moniker given to him for his size—as big as a mountain. His eyes widened as they scanned the room. Then he caught sight of her on the balcony.

The look he sent her sucked the air from her lungs. She took an involuntary step back.

“W-what do you want? What’s going on?”

Montaña grinned, his gap-toothed smile sending a wave of fear crashing through her body. Montaña never smiled.

He took one lumbering step into the room. The knots in Randi’s stomach tightened, putting pressure on her lungs and nearly cutting off her breath. She felt for the railing behind her and glanced over her shoulder at the drop into darkness.

Clenching her fists, she swung her hands in front of her. “Where is Mr. Zendaris? I demand to see Mr. Zendaris.”

The mountain pointed beyond Randi’s shoulder into the night, toward the whining helicopter.

She swallowed. “Where are the children? I need to see Nicky and Angelina before they leave. I always help them pack.”

Again, like the grim reaper, Montaña silently raised his arm and pointed out the window.

Could she bluster through this? The man was an idiot, a big lump of clay. At least she could outrun him. Dash around him and find someone, anyone with a bit of reason.

Why would Mr. Zendaris want to harm her? The children loved her and she loved them back. He’d commented on it many times in the past. He’d believed the hand of fate had intervened when Randi had shown up in Colombia with her grandmother on the one-year anniversary of his wife’s death.

She clamped her hands on her hips and stamped her bare foot. “I’m going to find the children. I’m going to say goodbye to them. Then I’m going to report you to Mr. Zendaris. This is an outrage.”

Shrugging, the man lifted his hands and wandered into the room. He bent over from his great height to scoop up the book of fairy tales, in which he could easily star as an ogre. He flipped the pages once, twice, and then tossed the book onto the chair where Randi had been sitting, reading to Nicky and Angelina.

Were they really already on the chopper? Was Angelina afraid?

Randi’s heart ached. Then she gritted her teeth. “I’m leaving. You have no right to keep me a prisoner here.”

She marched from the balcony into the room, heading for the chair where she’d kicked off her shoes. She unwound the scarf from around her neck and draped it over the back of the chair, reaching for her shoes.

Montaña grunted and slipped a gun from his pocket.

Randi straightened to her full height and pulled back her shoulders. “I’m telling Mr. Zendaris about this right now.”

Could Montaña hear the quaver in her voice? Did he even care? He must be here on Zendaris’s orders. The man did nothing without Zendaris’s approval.

Montaña advanced on her, holding the gun in front of him.

Randi backpedaled to the balcony, scuffing her heels. A bead of sweat ran down her face. Now the sweet, cloying scent of the flowers smelled like death.

Her feet hit the rough tile of the balcony and still she backed up toward the railing.