Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“We’re going to need backup,” he says. “The Swan. Lights and sirens ahead of us to clear the way.”
The MNPD cruiser swings wildly in front of me, Officer Marks driving it, and he damn near has to hit eighty to get around me and flip on his lights and sirens as we fly through the streets of the city.
“It’s going to be okay, man,” Shane says, but when I glance at him out of my periphery, the expression on his face doesn’t match his words.
Trust me, I should know, nothing feels okay right now.
Hannah is in trouble and I’m three miles out before I can reach her.
Fuck!
45
Hannah
10:12 p.m.
Deep, throbbing, excruciating pain bounces around inside my skull, and it takes every ounce of energy I can muster to open my eyes.
Everything around me is black, but I can hear voices, multiple voices surrounding me.
“Shut up! Just shut up!”
“Why are you doing this to us?”
“Gibbs is gonna be so pissed at you.”
It’s that last line that makes me blink my eyes open, several harsh blinks in quick succession, and only then does my vision clear from the dark fog.
A hotel bed with a thick white comforter and fluffy pillows sitting against a beige-colored headboard is the first thing I see. Pink roses and a silver plate of chocolate-covered strawberries on a light-wood dinette table with two black leather chairs are next.
And when I look to my right, I see Monica is beside me, her eyes wide with fear and a mix of black mascara and actively running tears smeared down her cheeks. Her back is against the wall, just like mine, and her hands and ankles are tied together with what look to be plastic zip ties.
I glance down at my body and see that my hands and ankles are tied together in the same fashion.
“You good, Ziva?” The question comes from my left, and I follow the voice until my gaze meets the one face that should not be here—my mom’s.
Oh. My. God.
Her eyes are wide, but they’re also lit up like a Christmas tree. Her mouth threatens to quirk up into a smile as she assesses my face. “She got you good, Ziva. A hit right to the noggin.”
Panic clutches my chest when I look across the room and latch on to the woman with gray eyes and gray hair, pacing near the floor-to-ceiling, sliding windows that showcase a view of Nashville.
“Are you going to kill us?” Monica cries, and the woman—who appears to be in her early sixties—spins to face us. It’s only then that I realize she has a gun in her hand.
“Shut up!” she shrieks, and her arms gesticulate so erratically that I duck my head out of fear as the gun’s barrel swings in our direction. “I already told you to shut up! I can’t think with all this fucking noise!”
Holy fucking shit.
“I’ll admit, she got the drop on us,” my mom whispers, her mouth actively smiling as she talks. “But relax, Ziva. Tony and Gibbs are coming.”
Out of the three of us, Sherry is the only one not freaking out. She’s in her goddamn element as we sit here tied up in a hotel room with a woman swinging a gun around in the air like it’s a victory flag.
I know why I’m in this mess, but I have no idea how my mother managed to get into this room too. I told her to stay in the lobby!
“Why are you here?” I whisper to her, and she just smiles and shrugs. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Figured you might need some backup since Tony and Gibbs were taking so long.”
Oh my God. A shaky sigh leaves my throat as I lean my head against the wall. My mother’s mind has latched on to her NCIS safety blanket, convinced her big heroes Tony and Gibbs are going to come save us. But I know better. I know the stark reality of our situation.
“Hannah, we need help,” Monica whispers to me, tears still spilling down her cheeks. Her sweet, innocent face is wrought with so much fear she looks like she’s aged ten years.
“Help is coming, honey,” my mom answers, and it’s all too much. I am overstimulated with fear and panic and throat-clutching anxiety that I can’t just go along with her delusions.
“They’re not coming!” I whisper-yell toward her. “They’re not fucking coming!”
But Sherry is undeterred by my outburst. Her demeanor is cool, calm, and collected. Honestly, I don’t know the last time I saw this big of a smile on her face. “Ziva, get a hold of yourself. You were in a Somalia terrorist camp, for goodness’ sake. And who saved you, Ziva? Who?”
I just stare at her.
“Tony, Ziva! Tony,” she answers with an exasperated shake of her head. Like I’m the one being ridiculous here. Like I’m overreacting while this woman has us captive at gunpoint.