“Yeah?” A wide smile bloomed across Rusty’s face. “That’s cool ’cause I love you too. Although not cool because I can’t stop here and kiss you.”
“When we get to Eugene.”
“For sure.” Rusty reached across the gap between their seats and took Cross’s hand. Cross looked down at their fingers woven together, at the length and strength and scant hair and short nails of Rusty’s hand. He’d held Willow’s small hand sometimes and liked how his grip protected hers. But he liked this even better, strength returned for strength.
They let go after a while since sweaty palms weren’t romantic. But for the remainder of the drive, as they talked about movies and hockey with a little baseball thrown in, Cross felt random smiles crossing his face, just for being beside the man who’d said, “I love you too.”
Eugene was a lot smaller than Portland, and it only took about ten minutes off the highway before they were pulling up to the modest house where Rusty had rented the basement.
“I don’t see her car,” Rusty said. “Let me text her so she knows we’re here.” He sent a text, got an immediate one back. “She says come around to the side, she’s in my old place.”
Cross opened the door and eased himself out. Technically, he could walk in this new boot, but his foot ached from two hours on the wrong side of gravity. He dug out his crutches and settled on them, then swung the door shut. Rusty led the way down around the house toward the basement slider door.
They’d reached the patio— two dark-clothed men jumped out of the bushes, guns in hand, ski-masks over their faces.
“Fuck!” Rusty whirled, putting himself between Cross and the men. Cross tried to go for the panic button on his smart watch, but he was unbalanced and the cuffs of his crutches hampered him. His heart raced and his palms went damp as he fumbled.
“Hands high!” The nearer man leaped to Cross’s side, grabbed his wrist, and aimed the gun at his head. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Okay, okay, relax.” Cross fought to keep his voice soothing, his training cutting in. “We’re listening.” The pounding of his heart made it hard to focus.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rusty’s belligerence didn’t hide the fear in his voice. “Leave us alone.”
“Nope.” The taller man aimed his weapon at Rusty’s stomach. “Keep your hands up or you’ll find out how hard it is to score goals with a hole in your gut.”
Any hope they were facing a random mugging died. Cross gritted his teeth and balanced on his good foot. His ankle chose that moment to pulse a hot dagger up his leg. “I need my crutches,” he said. “Don’t shoot me if I fall over.”
“Hold still.” The masked man unstrapped Cross’s smart watch and flung it under the nearby bushes, then eased behind him, dug in his pocket, and found his cell phone. He tossed that off into the bushes too.
Cross wobbled, perhaps a bit more dramatically than he needed to.Be underestimated.
The masked guy behind him said, “Okay, crutches, but keep your hands on the grips or I’ll shoot you in the other leg.”
“What do you want?” Rusty demanded, hands high as the taller man removed his phone and the SUV keys and tossed them aside.
“Shut up.” The taller man stepped back and gestured with his gun. “That way, past the hedge, over to the van.”
“You’re making a mistake.” Cross tried to sound calm despite his shortened breath. “You don’t want to do this. So far, you’ve just waved guns around, but this is kidnapping.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Move it.” The smaller man thumped Cross hard between the shoulder blades and he staggered, just managing to catch his balance.
Sharper pain flared up his leg.Fuck, fuck, fuck.“We’re not resisting.” Cross gave Rusty a frown, trying to convey that message. Rusty was inches taller and a lot more built than either of these guys, but muscles couldn’t beat guns.Play along, keep things calm.“I’m going to walk forward now.” He was aware, every time he put his good foot down, of the shoe he was wearing. The shoe, and the tracker embedded in the heel of every pair.
Or were they only in the right-shoe heels?Panic caught at his throat because all his right shoes were home in the closet. But no. Amy was beyond efficient. If Cross was left-only for months, she would’ve made sure he was covered. He hobbled forward, as slowly as he could get away with, limping heavily although the pain meant that was only a small exaggeration. He prayed inside his head that Amy was her usual efficient self.Help!
“You can’t do this.” Rusty hung back, chin jutted out. “We’re not going.”
The shorter man looked Rusty up and down. “I can shoot you in the leg and drag you along. Might be easier.”
“No!” Cross couldn’t help begging. “No, please, don’t hurt him. As long as you have both of us, we’ll cooperate, right Rusty?”
The short man shoved Cross again and he stumbled forward.
“All right!” Rusty hurried to catch up. “Leave him alone.”
“Hands up, motherfucker,” the short man said. “Go on. One step at a time.”
The masked guys herded them through the hedge and over to a blue van. They opened the back doors to an empty load space and short-guy snatched Cross’s crutches, tossing them back toward the hedge one by one. “Get in.” Short-guy shoved him again and he slammed into the bumper with his knees. He couldn’t hold back a whimper of pain.
