Free The Echo of Violence by Jordan Dane

to be transported. And it didn’t take long for the gunmen to board the rest.
    He tensed his jaw as the fishing boat pulled anchor and motored into the dark, heading north. Whoever the men were, he had underestimated them.
    That wouldn’t happen again.
    “Next time you’re in my crosshairs,” he vowed, “I’m pulling the trigger.”
    Kinkaid stood and retraced the tracks of the terrorists to get a good look at their boot prints and any distinctive footprints of the hostages. Such intel could be invaluable if he had to trail them later.
    When he’d done all he could do, he gave thought to leaving the area. He knew he’d have to avoid going back the way he’d come. The stolen Toyota would be off-limits, especially with the police tracking terrorists in the vicinity. To avoid getting caught in an official interrogation, he’d need help to get out.
    He grabbed his cell and hit speed dial for LaClaire. When the phone rang, he took a step forward and stumbled. A sudden burst of heat raged through his body as nausea hit hard. He grabbed a tree for support and dropped the AK-47. The rifle blurred on the ground as if it had vanished into a black hole. And when he looked down, he lost his balance. His world spun out of control.
    Kinkaid dropped his phone and collapsed. He tumbled down an embankment, unable to stop. And jolts of pain melded into numb oblivion when he finally skidded to a halt with dirt and debris hitting his face.
    “Talk to me, boss. What’s happening?”
    Somewhere in the distance, he heard Joe’s voice. Lying flat on his belly, he opened his eyes to a blur of vague shadows. The faint glow of his cell phone came into focus for an instant, then multiplied and drifted from view. He tried moving, but couldn’t force his body to cooperate. Hell, he couldn’t even feel his legs.
    “Where are you, Jackson?” Joe asked.
    Good question, LaClaire. It was Kincaid’s last thought before his world went black.
     
    Once aboard the vessel, Kate was herded with the rest of the hostages to the rear of the boat and shoved to her knees. She clung to the children and kept her head down, afraid to make eye contact with anyone.
    A heavy tarp was thrown over their heads. It stank like dead fish, which made it nearly impossible to breathe, especially with the diesel fumes coming from the boat engine. And once they got under way, the rocking of the boat made some of the hostages sick. She heard them heaving and throwing up where they sat. The muggy stench became unbearable. She held her breath as long as she could.
    But their isolation under the tarp soon ended.
    One by one, hostages were hauled out and dragged to the front of the boat. Not even the drone of the engine masked the sobs and the screams. She only caught fragments of what was happening and recognized the voice of the leader, the one who spoke English. He asked questions about who they were and who mightpay money for them. And for those who resisted, he tortured them until they cooperated.
    When it came time for her, what would she tell him? And who would pay enough for the children? Their parents had no money.
    She crouched under the heavy tarp until her leg muscles cramped, and her neck ached, waiting for them to come for her. Her mind reeled with what she might say. Eventually, her legs went to sleep, and the tingle felt like a million pinpricks stabbing her. And after hours in the same position, she couldn’t force her body to move at all. Her legs had grown numb.
    But her captors never came for her. And that scared Kate more.
    She stayed under the tarp until the boat came to a stop. Morning had come. She saw a pale light edge the tarp. That was when panic set in. She had to get the circulation back in her legs. If she couldn’t walk, she had no doubt they would kill her. Bending her legs and stretching her back, she forced her body to work although the movement sent excruciating pain through her muscles. She made sure the children and the other hostages