Read Online THE MARINE'S LAST DEFENSE by Angi Morgan - Free Book Online Page A

and drown in two feet of water?
    Hell, no.

Chapter Seven
    Jake was dead.
    Bree would never forget the twinkle in his eyes when they first met in the diner and how he’d seemed too shy to ask for her phone number. Or how he’d rushed into the house chasing Brenda Ellen’s murderer. Or how he hadn’t embarrassed her in front of Julie before arresting her in the park.
    A good man was dead because of her running. How many more would die? It has to stop. “This has to stop,” she shouted into the darkness surrounding her. She sniffed one last time, rubbing her nose on her drenched, smelly coat, then kicked out against the car trunk.
    Her abductors—and Jake’s murderers—had been parked for several minutes. She was petrified but determined to be strong. She’d faced the unknown before. She’d faced Griffin and escaped. She could do it again with a little luck.
    Footsteps. A pop. Jarring light shining in her eyes.
    “Get out.”
    “I, um, I can’t. My legs are cramping and I can’t move.”
    “Do you think I give a flip?” As much as he tried, the man who’d shot Jake couldn’t disguise that his voice was high-pitched and his eyes darted questioningly all around him. It was plain to see he wasn’t in charge.
    His gloved hands fisted on her collar and the handcuffs, using both to jerk her from the small trunk. Her legs protested and she fell to the concrete floor. It made no difference. He wrapped a hand in her clothing and hair at the back of her neck and dragged her across the filthy floor. He pulled her into a chair on the other side of the expansive abandoned room and began taping her to it.
    The man who had carried her over his shoulder from the lake was smoking a cigarette, leaning on the roof of the compact. She wouldn’t cry. Not another tear. No matter what they did to her. “You won’t get away with this. The man you let drown was a homicide detective. There will be a citywide manhunt for you.”
    “Like anybody saw us.” The younger one laughed as he sliced the end of the tape and stuck his knife back inside his boot.
    “Wait,” the man in charge said, flipping his cigarette into a pile of rubble. “Our little friend here must be cold in that wet coat of hers. Let me help her a minute.”
    “She’s handcuffed, Larry. We can’t—”
    He waited until he was in the younger one’s face and flipped open a switchblade close to his ski-mask-covered nose. “What did I say about names?”
    Bree swallowed hard, her throat dry and sore from the frightened tears she’d shed as she bounced in the trunk. The blade came closer. He polished the flat side just below her collarbone, the long, sharp edge just an inch away from her throat. She dared not look down, afraid that he might cut her and everything would be over.
    He guided the knife down her arm, slicing her coat like butter when he came back to her neck. Across, around, down her sleeve and slicing on the way back up. She felt the tip only a couple of times on her right arm as it snagged in her sweater. If he broke the skin, she couldn’t tell in her state of mind.
    He yanked the coat remnants back over her shoulders. The pieces would have fallen, but he continued, asserting his power by threatening her with each slice.
    Her coat lay in shreds around the chair. The man who had shot Jake came closer and wrapped the tape around her chest, forcing her close to the chair. She could barely take a deep breath and definitely couldn’t move. She could no longer tell if she shivered because of the cold or shook because of the adrenaline firing through her body.
    It took her a minute after they’d both walked away, but she finally got her voice. “What are we doing here?” she yelled to the men.
    The man who’d attacked Jake glanced up from the back of the car, but only for a second. He seemed nervous, young, inexperienced, while the older guy, who he’d called Larry, had that dare-me-to-hurt-you look. The same evil gleam she’d seen on Griffin’s