Pushing her tongue against the surface of the tape that covered her lips, she focused on not vomiting, breathing slowly, trying to relax her muscles and control her panic.

Mackenzie tried to remember the events leading up to this nightmare. There was the shower of glass, the burning sting and high-voltage jolt, the biting chemical scent. Ether, she thought. She could still smell it. The nausea came back. She focused on her breathing again, trying to keep from retching, frightened she might drown on her own vomit.

Breathing deeply, she concentrated on opening her eyes. The right one cooperated, giving her an oscillating view of the floor of the van and storage bins attached to the wall. Her left eye was a source of pain. Groggily, she tried to comprehend what that meant. Was it damaged, swelled shut, missing? She pulled her eyes tight and slipped toward unconsciousness. Pushing against oblivion, she roused herself.

Inventory, do an inventory, she thought. Starting at her toes, she concentrated on sensations, what she could move, how was she bound. Feet still in boots, protected. Zip ties, painfully tight above the boots. She moved, her eyes closed, trying to visualize the condition of her legs, knees and thighs. Intact, she thought.

She felt a nagging pain in the hip she was resting on, but her chest and back seemed unharmed. One finger at a time, she probed the condition of each hand, then pulled again at the ligatures that held her wrists. Nothing broken, both securely bound. Her tongue ran along her teeth, left to right, top to bottom. Intact.

The truck bounced hard several times, came to a stop, and started again. Mackenzie struggled against the nausea once more, pushing it back to the edge of her consciousness. She focused on her breathing, slowing everything down, filling her lungs as deeply as possible.

She opened her eyes again. Once more, vision from the right eye only. Lifting her head, she could see some of the front windshield and a partial silhouette of the driver. How did this happen? She closed her eyes.

When she was awake again, there was no motion. She shivered against the cold metal interior. Then there was the sound of voices and the opening of doors. She was pulled by her feet into the night air, her body falling hard to the ground.

“Careful,” came a voice. “We might still have some fun with her.”

Mackenzie was aware of a bright light, the interior of her closed eyes glowing red.

“God, she’s a mess. I don’t want her blood all over my carpet.”

“Can’t take my van. We’d be stuck before we got 10 feet.”

“Got a tarp in that truck?”

“Yeah.”

“Get it, and do a good job spreading it around. I don’t want a trace of her left when we’re done.”

Mackenzie felt her body being moved again. She continued to feign unconsciousness. This time she was being carried. Then she felt the plastic of the tarp against her face, heard the sound of the hatch slamming and the doors closing, and then the rumble of a big engine coming to life. She was going with sensations, avoiding thinking about her situation. She could smell a leather interior and imagined the soft glow of the instrument panel.

“Did you check her for weapons?”

It was Sabotny’s voice.

“Just like you told me. You coulda been there to help.”

“No need to increase our exposure. No one remembers a white work van. Was she packing?”

“Yeah, a sweet little Glock right under her left tit. Big tits, just like her old lady.”

“Fucking pervert, copping a feel off an unconscious….”

“Like it matters.”

“No other weapons? You patted her down good?”

“Just the Glock. She had some kind of electronic device around her neck, though.”

“What did you do with that?”

“I smashed it.”

The men went silent.

Mackenzie listened to the mechanical sounds of the vehicle as it bumped along the uneven surface. Then things went silent. Doors opened. She was lifted out, carried a short distance, and dropped on sand—cold and damp against her Lycra shirt and tights.

“What’s the deal with the fire?” came the other voice. Mackenzie shivered, partially opening her good eye to the twilight surroundings. She could feel the breeze coming off Lake Michigan.

“I like fires. You know that. I always make a fire on the beach at night. We made a fire that night with Terry. Remember?”

Mackenzie could see the glow of the fire increase. The two men were drinking, passing a bottle back and forth. One of them, the heavier one, moved behind the fire. A scar ran between his eyebrows. Brewler.

“Why did you make the hole so fucking big? You could bury an elephant in here,” he asked Sabotny.

“I was trying to get the hang of how to use the backhoe on that old Kubota. Once I figured it out, it was too much fun. I was like a kid playing in sand. If we’d buried Terry like this, we wouldn’t be messing with this shit now. Just another runaway; that’s what they would have said.”

“If Terry had let us have his sister, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all. We’d a had our fun, maybe even started something regular.”

“Drag her over here, and put her back on the tarp. I don’t want her ass in sand. What a mess, she’s got blood all over. I told you to be careful.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t willing to put your ass out there. I had to do the whole thing myself. No time to be dainty.”

Suddenly Sabotny was standing above her, looking directly into her half open eye. “Good morning, darling,” he sneered. “You’re probably wondering how we figured this out.” He bent over and snapped his fingers an inch from her good eye. “Easy, once we found that GPS. Had to be someone local. And new people don’t go unnoticed, darling. And as luck would have it, Chris, here, serviced the back-up generator at your house, something you asked your realtor to take care of. That’s when we heard about the rich woman from California. And then there was the Subaru, seemed to be around too often. Besides, I always knew you’d be out there sometime looking for revenge. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why don’t you pull the tape off? Let her talk,” said Brewler.

“Don’t mess with a good thing. I don’t care what she has to say.”

Brewler knelt at her side. She saw the flash of steel, the fire reflecting off a knife. He ran his hand under her shirt, then pulled the stretchy material against the jagged serrations of the blade. Then he slit through the bra, severing the band between the cups. He looked up at Sabotny, “I told you she had big tits, nice and hard with big nipples.”

“Too bad you fucked up her face.”

“Get a flag or roll her over. It’s all good. Should we tell her about Terry before we fuck her?”

“I think we should have a drink, then flip for who gets sloppy seconds,” said Sabotny. He tossed an empty bottle on the fire. Mackenzie watched as he walked to the Range Rover, returning with a fresh whiskey bottle. He stood near the fire, using a knife to cut through the foil, pulling the cork, then passing the bottle to Brewler.

“Too bad Jim ain’t here for the party,” said Brewler after taking a long hit.

“Yeah, too bad the stupid drunk cooked himself. He was just fucking drinking himself to death.”

“This shit is good,” Brewler said, passing the bottle back.

“Should be. Seventy bucks a bottle,” Sabotny said. “Drag her over near the hole. Make it easier to toss her in when we’re done.”

Mackenzie felt the tarp under her sliding over rocks and clumps of dune grass. She clawed against the ties, trying to free her hands.

“I think I should have first crack,” said Sabotny.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m holding a gun. And I want her from the front. I’m not like you. Cut loose her ankles and wrists, then hold her down. And give me the knife so I can cut off her pants.”