Excerpts

The Makeover Mission

"Tell the major she's awake."

Jane Richards snapped her head back, paying for the movement with a pounding that felt like a band of fire across her temples.

Who was the major? And where was she?

She blinked, straining to see into the darkness. Nothing. Something shielded her eyes. What? Why?

Panic tightened her throat.

She attempted to rip off whatever covered her eyes. But her hands wouldn't budge. They were strapped to the blunt edges of what felt like armrests.

Blindfolded and trapped.

But why? Where?

"Who are you?" The words were hers, but the voice didn't sound like her voice. It sounded weak and scared.

No one answered.

The air around her felt clammy. The darkness seemed uniform throughout. There were no traffic sounds beyond thin windows, no voices through walls. The only noise permeating the silence came from behind her. The sound of someone breathing. Slow, even breaths. The sound from a child's nightmare. The sound from a woman's worst fears.

But it was real. And it was happening to her.

She wanted to scream. The temptation to struggle against the bonds trapping her was stronger. It must be a nightmare. It had to be. People like her did not end up in dark rooms with their hands tied to the arms of chairs.

"Who are you? Why am I here?" Her voice shook; her whole body mimicked it.

No answer. The breathing continued. Evenly paced and controlled.

She had to keep calm, to regain control. Isn't that what they told her during library fire drills? The person who panics is the person who's lost. And she was ready to panic in a big way.

Jane squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to hold back the tidal way of terror pulsating through her system. She wiggled her hands, wondering what held her in place. Tape? She could feel adhesive tugging at her bare skin with each twist of her wrists.

The fear wanted to paralyze her. If she let it, it would. She flexed her hands, the tug of the tape holding strong. Her legs too were bound. Helpless.

Scream? If she shouted would anyone hear her? Could she alert someone before the breather stopped her? Did she have any other choice?

She might have only one chance. She had to make it good. She opened her mouth to scream.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice stopped her cold. It was male. Rough-edged and deep.

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