Forgotten Memories. Laura Scott

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       TWO

      Gabby was sandwiched between the two men dressed in black, her heart racing with fear.

      The only advantage she had at the moment was the fact that they’d tied her wrists together in front of her. Slowly she edged her hands over to the right, trying to reach the pocket of her lab coat without either of the gunmen noticing.

      Her wrists hurt from where the rope cut into her skin, but she forced herself to ignore the sharp pain as she slipped her fingers into the deep pocket. She knew she had a scalpel in there from earlier in the evening, when she thought she was going to need it but then hadn’t. The one-and-a-half-inch blade wasn’t much of a weapon, especially against a gun, but it was better than nothing. Still, she had to get it out of her pocket and take the cover off the sharp edge of the blade before she could even use it.

      Gabby could feel the handle of the scalpel, but her fingers were growing numb and she couldn’t seem to get a grip on it. Twice she managed to grasp the handle between her fingers, but then when she tried to draw the blade out, dropped it.

      Gabby swallowed hard as tears threatened. At twenty-nine years old, she wasn’t ready to die, and certainly not like this. What in the world was going on? She led a boring life, one that consisted of working, eating, sleeping and then working some more. Sometimes she read mysteries and tried to get some running in, but not very often. As the youngest trauma surgeon on staff, she was expected to take a good portion of the late-night and weekend shifts.

      Her social life was nonexistent, which was the way she liked it. She’d avoided personal relationships since her residency, unable to fully trust that she wouldn’t become another victim again. Besides, she didn’t need a man interfering with her goal of dedicating her life to helping others.

      She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to make anyone, especially a guy named Creighton, angry enough to do something like this. The more she thought about it, the more she believed these Neanderthals had grabbed the wrong person. This couldn’t possibly be about her. Yet being innocent wasn’t going to spare her life. If they didn’t rape her, they’d likely kill her.

      Sooner than later.

      But she wasn’t dead yet and just the idea of this being a potential sexual assault made her determined not to give up without a fight. She tried once again to grasp the handle of the scalpel and this time managed to hang on long enough to inch it up into the palm of her hand. Now she needed to figure out how to get the cover off the blade without slicing herself.

      Abruptly the driver turned right onto a dirt road and the momentum made her fall against the guy on her left. Somehow she managed to hang on to the scalpel even when the guy harshly shoved her back upright.

      “Hope you’re ready to cooperate with Creighton,” the guy on her left sneered. “Don’t bother trying to fight him—he’s used to getting what he wants.”

      Gabby had no idea what that meant, and didn’t particularly want to find out. Desperately, she inched the handle of the scalpel farther into her hands until she could feel the edge of the plastic cover shielding the blade.

      As the truck came to a stop in a small clearing, she managed to push the cover off the end without hurting herself. She did her best to keep the tip pointed down and hidden beneath the edge of her lab coat.

      If either one of these men with guns looked at her hands too closely, they might see her meager weapon.

       And then it would be game over.

      The thug to her right slid out of the backseat first and then stood outside and gestured with his gun. “Get out.”

      Gabby swallowed hard around the gag and scooted awkwardly across the bench seat, trying not to give in to the overwhelming sense of doom.

      Despite having worked a twenty-four-hour shift, she needed to stay focused, ready to react at the right moment. The scalpel in her hands wasn’t much, but maybe, just maybe she’d catch these guys off guard long enough to run away. She hoped that the Creighton guy they talked about wasn’t standing there waiting for her.

      The fact that she was wearing a white lab coat wouldn’t exactly help her hide for long. White was easy to see in the darkness of the night. Gabby winced. Why hadn’t she changed her clothes? It was obviously too late to wallow in regrets now.

      “Hurry up,” the guy said with impatience.

      The truck sat high off the ground, forcing her to jump down awkwardly. She stumbled and staggered off to the side, remaining bent over as she stayed on her feet, hiding the fact that she was still gripping the scalpel.

      “Where do you think you’re going?” the guy growled, crossing over to where she was standing.

      She obviously couldn’t answer with the gag in her mouth. There was no one else in the clearing, and the second guy was still making his way out of the car, so when the first guy came closer, she figured it was now or never. His jacket was open and he only wore a thin T-shirt beneath it. Gabby brought her bound hands upward, shoving the tip of the scalpel into his upper abdomen with all the force she could muster. He let out a howl of pain and doubled over, so she immediately turned and ran toward the trees.

      Pop! Pop! The sound of gunfire echoed around her like fireworks on the Fourth of July, and she braced herself for searing pain even as she ducked behind the trees.

      No pain yet, or maybe she was just too numb to feel it. She kept going, frustrated that she couldn’t get out of the lab coat with her hands tied in front of her, and worse, she’d inadvertently dropped the scalpel. Desperately she pushed farther into the woods, not even caring that she probably sounded like an elephant barging through the forest. She purposefully chose the dense areas in an attempt to use the brush for cover.

      And while she normally wasn’t the type to pray, she found herself doing just that.

      * * *

      Shane crouched in the bed of the truck closest to the passenger side, watching and waiting for the right time to make his move. One guy got out from the backseat first and then told Gabriella to do the same, waving his gun at her in a way that made him clench his teeth in anger. If that guy hurt her... He couldn’t bear to finish that thought.

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