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her it was her left foot, her Army rehabilitation therapist had cheerily assured her. At least she could drive a car without special equipment. Maybe not a helicopter again, but….
    Oh, who was she kidding? She’d become a freak of nature; that was all there was to it. The pretty–at least she still hoped–young woman seated in the corner at the bar all the guy’s would try to come on to…that is, until they got a look at the foot. Then their eyes would skip away. Even if they stayed to listen to her story, they’d treat her more as an object worthy of a respectful distance, like some kind of monument–unless they were soldiers themselves–to the men they maybe thought they should be. The juxtaposition didn’t exactly spark an avalanche of potential romance.
    But enough of the pity party. She started to push up from the couch when she heard, almost sensed, the slightest creak of the floor from within the darkened kitchen, and felt an iciness slice through her like a knife.
    She wasn’t alone. She didn’t know exactly how she knew, but she knew. She tried to fling herself across the room to where her old Army sidearm hung in its holster on the coat rack, but she was too slow.
    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
    She froze, down on one knee. A pair of men, dressed in blue jeans and collared shirts with their heads covered by ski masks, appeared, rising up from their crouch around the corner into a shooter’s stance. In their hands were Colt semiautomatics, pointed at her head.
    Her heart leapt into her throat.
    “Who are you?” She instantly figured by their bearing and demeanor they were either military or ex-military.
    “You don’t need to know that, ma’am. Please return to the couch.”
    “And what if I don’t?”
    “It’s not a request.”
    She looked into the eyes of the one doing the talking, the taller of the two, and could see he meant business. She worked her jaw in a circular motion. How could she have been so stupid as to let these two get the jump on her?
    “Okay, a polite command then,” she said. “I guess I’ll take the couch option.”
    She stood upright and with a slight hitch in her stride returned to the couch.
    The man spoke to his accomplice. “Cuff her and hood her.”
    “What?” She didn’t like the sound of this.
    But before she could react the other man moved behind her and pulled her hands together behind her back, securing them with a pair of handcuffs. Then a black hood came down over her head, throwing her into the dark. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you doing this?”
    “The less you talk and the more you listen the easier this is going to go. Turn around and sit down on the couch,” the first man said.
    She could hear him moving toward her. She felt the briefest touch of something hard against her head and realized to her horror it was the barrel of his Colt. At least she could still breath.
    “Okay. Okay. Let’s not get trigger happy.”
    She did as he instructed. It was a little difficult without the use of her arms or her sight, but she managed to drop down heavily onto the couch again. The two men were silent for a moment, but she could hear them moving around her. She wondered what they were doing.
    The answer came a moment later when she felt the sting of a needle in her hip.
    “Hey!” She instinctively tried to shake away, which made it hurt worse.
    “Don’t move.”
    “What are you doing? What did you just give to me?” Visions of the video she’d just recorded from Nathan Kurn’s office flashed through her mind.
    “You won’t be harmed as long as you cooperate.”
    “Why should I believe you?”
    “This is for your own protection.”
    The drug was already taking effect. Like a gray curtain, sleep pressed down through her shoulders, arms, and legs; noting the effects as if examining them from a great distance, she could no longer feel her appendages, nor the rest of her body; not ever her mouth, her lips, or her