Bound
Two
Two
Ananke woke the next morning to find that she was blissfully alone. If Frank had any intention of returning, he had left no sign…indeed, the only thing that kept her from dismissing the incident as a nightmare was the fact that this clearly not her hotel.
Looking around, Ananke discovered her purse sitting on the table and a fresh change of clothes on the chair. No cosmetics were in evidence, but Ananke thought she might have some powder and an old tube of lip gloss in her purse. Along with the comb that always sat beneath her wallet, Ananke realized that she could at least make herself presentable—even if she felt far from normal.
Ananke considered her options as she showered. Frank had doubtless gone through her purse and found out whom she was and where she was staying. If he hadn’t found out where she was from, she would be all too surprised. She was tempted to run cross-country, but he would almost certainly track her down. Reaching for the shampoo, Ananke mentally examined her passport. How many days were left on her visa? Maybe she had overstayed…if Frank was stalking her, it would be worth the sacrifice to be deported.
~*~
“I’m sorry, Ms. Müeller, but you have three days left on your visa.”
Ananke had rescued her rental from the bar and driven the 33 miles down to the Dutch consulate in Carson City. The gentleman who had agreed to meet with her was very attentive, but seemed not to comprehend her problem.
“So I would be on my own if I flew back to Rotterdam.”
“You would be on your own, regardless. Immigration and Customs Enforcement will only ensure that you board your flight to Holland; they will not accompany you.”
“Even though I will be killed if I attempt to go home?”
“If someone is making death threats against you, Ms Müeller, why haven’t you reported them to the police?”
“Frank Breitkopf is a sociopath who has countless victims. If the authorities have not caught him by now, I doubt they will before I have safely arrived in Rotterdam.”
The representative gave Ananke a stern look and muttered something about priorities.
“I will see to it that you are allowed to stay at the consulate until you have finished speaking with the authorities. I will contact Immigration and Customs Enforcement and see if they can arrange something.”
Three days later, Ananke boarded a flight from Reno to Rotterdam. The police had provided security until her arrival at the airport and Immigration had thoughtfully sent someone to accompany her through the terminal and wait with her until the first boarding call. But Ananke knew better than to let her guard down.
“We should have left ten minutes ago!” her seatmate exclaimed.
“They’re probably having trouble getting permission to take off.” Ananke’s voice was even, but in the back of her mind, she wondered if Frank had finally caught up with her.
“There’s a commotion up front!” announced someone a few seats away. “A U.S. Marshal is trying to come on, but the air marshal revealed herself and said that he doesn’t have any reason to board.” He paused. “If anything, they’re dealing with conflicting jurisdiction.”
The passenger grew quiet again as the discussion became more heated.
“The Land Marshal is saying that he needs to escort someone off the plane; that the passenger is not allowed to leave Nevada because of an ongoing investigation.”
Ananke’s stomach flipped.
“I haven’t heard about any investigations,” said her seatmate.
“You wouldn’t, would you?” the gentleman by the window interjected. “They’re hardly the FBI or the CIA, but I’m sure the U.S. Marshal Service has its own secrets!”
Ananke barely heard the conversation around her as she began to pray.
“They’re probably going to have us file off the plane so we’re not all fumbling for our IDs,” her seatmate said after a while.
“Shut up!” their informant hissed. “He’s coming this way!”
“I don’t know why you didn’t wait in the jetway!” grumbled an annoyed female voice. “It’s not like I would have hidden her in the lavatory and claimed I couldn’t find her!”
Ananke tried to keep her eyes on the seat ahead of her, but a silent compulsion pulled them up. Frank was passing the exit row, a fortyish woman trailing behind.
“I don’t have time to dally, Deputy Howard. It’s best I do this myself.”
Ananke grabbed the copy of Sky Mall in front of her and started to leaf through it.
“Ananke Müeller?”
She looked up slowly, assuming an innocent expression. When she said something in Dutch, the air marshal frowned.
“That can’t be her—”
“The woman I am looking for is a Dutch national.”
Ananke glanced away, trying not to get hypnotized by Frank’s spotless—and illicit—uniform.
“Are you or are you not Ananke Ingrid Müeller?”
She stared at him vacantly, as if she did not comprehend English.
“I told you to let me handle this!” Deputy Howard snapped. “I’ll go get a translator and we can start over.”
“Wait!” Frank held up a hand. He waited until he had Ananke’s eye before saying something quietly in French, so that any other speakers within earshot would miss the threat.
“See?” he said as Ananke reached for her purse. “No need for a translator!”
Frank handed Ananke’s purse to the air marshal with a smile, then turned the young woman around and cuffed her.
“I’m sorry to disrupt takeoff, ma’am.”
“Oh, no problem!” Deputy Howard beamed. “Call of duty!”
The three of them reached the front of the plane quickly and Frank gave the deputy his most patronizing smile. “Have a good flight.”
As soon as he heard the flight attendant latch the door, Frank’s demeanor changed.
“Consider yourself lucky to be alive,” he hissed as he marched his captive up the jetway. “I was tempted to kill you in front of them!”
Ananke did her best to keep her head down as they walked. There was no point in crying for help—if Frank was angry enough to murder her in front of an air marshal, there was no saving her now. Frank pushed her on for several minutes before stopping to bribe a janitor.
“In here!” Frank commanded. He pushed her into the women’s side. “Handicapped stall.”
Ananke’s stomach churned. Perhaps it would have been better to commit a crime while she was still in Sparks…other than death; prison seemed to be the only escape.
When they reached the stall, Frank muscled in behind her and locked the door. A purse hook was mounted nearly sixteen inches above her head—it was on this that he strung Ananke’s wrists after swiftly re-cuffing them in front. The young woman was left alone for a moment as her kidnapper stripped off his pants; then she, too, was undressed.
He whispered something in her ear, but Ananke was distracted by one hand snaking around her mouth and the other cupping her belly. Frank thrust and she screamed…he waited a moment before trying again, and gave a delighted cackle when his prisoner repeated her reaction. Soon, he found a regular rhythm, cradling her carefully as he sought his pleasure. It was only her will and his hand around her stomach that kept Ananke from being pounded into the wall.
Author's Notes
- I know there’s no Dutch consulate in Carson City, Nevada in real life…but there is for my story. :)
- I couldn’t find any evidence that air marshals are referred to as “Deputy _____”, so I left it as is.