11 by Kylie Brant Page A

wounds were incurable.
    She went to the window and locked it, before going to the corner near it and sliding down the wall to sit cross-legged. Leaning her head against the wall, she set the knife on the floor next to her, within easy reach. She’d told Bishop she couldn’t imagine Four being released to come here alone. But if their captor were in the vicinity, why would he need the other woman? Mia couldn’t identify him. She’d never seen him without a mask. He could pass her on the street and she’d be clueless, whereas she’d recognized Four immediately, even from a distance.
    There were no easy answers to the questions bubbling inside her, so she had to put them aside, at least for the time being. It didn’t matter what Bishop thought of her. It wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with being disbelieved. He could be useful. Authorities would be watching for a lone woman leaving the country, not a couple.
    Shifting to a more comfortable position, her gaze rested on Jude. Given the even rise and fall of the man’s chest, he’d fallen asleep immediately. But somehow she thought the slightest move on her part would bring him instantly alert. Little had been resolved. He’d countered her suspicions with rational explanations, and she needed to sort through the mental tangle to find coherence.
    But right now her thoughts were full of Hoa. A woman who had offered friendship and shelter. And in return Mia had brought death to her door.
     
    * * * *
    The next time Jude returned to the room it was locked. “We’re set, Mia. Open up,” he murmured in a low voice. He could hear the sound of something being moved. The motorbike. Then the bolt slid back. But she didn’t open the door. He pushed it open, reached inside to flip on the light before entering cautiously.
    This time he found her in the center of the room. Upon seeing him, she tugged up the hem of her tee shirt to reveal a band of ivory skin while she replaced the knife.
    “Progress?”
    She sent him a questioning glance as she turned to pace the small area.
    “You put the knife away.” He relocked the door and went to the bed, tossing the sack he held on the bed and setting a six pack of Vietnamese beer on the floor beside it. “I’m touched.”
    “Don’t mistake it for a sign of trust.” Reaching one end of the room she turned to stride to the other. “I hate being confined. I’m ready to peel the paint off the wall with my fingernails.”
    He flicked a glance at the aged walls in question. “Looks like someone beat you to it.” He selected a beer, twisted the top off and raised the bottle to his lips. She’d spend hours, even days locked in her bedroom, he’d told Raiker. Of course that had been five and a half years ago. And compared to this minuscule hotel room, her bedroom suite would have been the size of a small apartment.
    “It’ll be a few more hours.” He regarded her over the top of the bottle. It wasn’t just the pacing. Tension was radiating off her in waves. “After midnight.”
    “What if the boat’s owner doesn’t show?”
    She was giving voice to his fear. The man he’d finally settled on didn’t summon a great deal of faith. But the fact that the boat owner had to appear in order to cash in on the final payment was Jude’s ace in the hole. Appealing to the baser side of human nature usually paid off. “I think he will. If not…” He paused for another drink. “Then I’ll try again tomorrow night.”
    The words failed to reassure her. Mia’s expression was grim. “The longer we’re here the better chance of being caught. Of someone seeing something on the news. Is Hoa’s death on TV?”
    “Yes.” He returned her gaze steadily. “And so is your passport photo.”
    That stopped her. She drew a deep breath. And then another. “Was there a police presence on the dock when you were down there?”
    She was too astute. “No. But there may be tonight. Unless I’ve managed to divert their attention from you.” He