Bedroom Therapy

by Rebecca York

  Precious time.

  When Amanda’s signal slipped off the edge of the screen, he filled the interior of the car with curses and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

  Then he told himself to calm down and think. He was a careful, methodical detective. He could do this!

  A horn honked, and he realized he was drifting toward the wrong side of the road.

  Damn! He pulled onto the shoulder, raising a cloud of gravel as his wheels spun to a stop. Picking up the box, he got her signal back by adjusting the range to cast a wider net. The blip came back on the screen, fainter but there. Starting up again, he got back into better range before returning to the more local setting.

  As he drove, he tried to send his thoughts to Amanda. He knew it was irrational, but it helped him stay calm to feel like he was communicating with her. Maybe it was even doing some good.

  “Amanda, you’re a smart woman. You understand people. And you’re a psychologist. Deal with this guy. Don’t let him hurt you. Do whatever it takes to stay alive.”

  Did she even know what the SOB wanted? Or who he was?

  “I’m so sorry,” he said aloud, speaking to Amanda again. “I came down here to investigate a murder, and it looks like I didn’t do my job.”

  Of course, sorry wasn’t going to cut it. He had to catch up with her. He had to get there before she got hurt. Or. . .

  He couldn’t deal with “or.” Wrapping his hands around the steering wheel, he unconsciously hunched forward as he kept driving.

  The trail led him out onto the highway, then away from St. Stephens into a rural area.

  Was he taking her to the woods? Or to a house? He hoped it was the latter, for a lot of reasons.

  ###

  The man named Tony Anderson drove slowly into the woods. It was dark and shadowy under the canopy of branches, making Amanda feel even more alone and isolated—with a madman.

  Still, she found herself wishing that the narrow road would keep going on forever. And that he would forget all about the woman in the backseat.

  But she knew the journey was going to come to an end, and soon enough she saw lights through the trees. The shadowy bulk of a house loomed in the forest. Pulling to a stop, he cut the engine.

  “End of the line,” he said, the words sending shivers down her spine.

  She wanted to beg him to let her go, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Choking back the plea, she watched as he held the gun on her with one hand and used the other to unlock the chain that secured her to the armrest.

  She thought about trying to slam the metal cuffs on her wrists into his face but finally decided that she’d probably only get shot for her efforts.

  “Let’s go. Move.”

  She got up stiffly, and he gave her a shove toward the door of the van.

  “Into the house. The door is unlocked. Open it.”

  Awkwardly, she twisted the knob and stepped inside—and found herself in an almost empty room. There was almost no furniture, just a big, bare space with one chair and one table.

  He marched her across to the far wall, pulled her arms above her head, and clicked another chain into place. All of it happened too quickly for her to formulate an escape plan.

  Stepping back, he carefully set his gun down on the table, then slowly raised his eyes to hers. The way his gaze traveled over her body made her want to scream, but she managed to keep her lips pressed together, because she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her turn to jelly. That was probably what he wanted, and at least she could keep that much from him.

  Or was that the wrong approach? Would it be better to scream and cower? Which strategy would keep her alive longer?

  She was trained in psychology. She should know what to do, but she could hardly make her brain function.

  His lips moved, and she realized he was speaking.

  “You know, I had a lot of time to think about the best way to punish you,” he said in a conversational voice. “And what I decided was that since you presumed to give other women sexual advice, we should make this a sexual adventure together. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun playing out some of my most vivid fantasies. At least I will.”

  He came closer, and her fear leaped up, making her lose control and kick out at him with her left foot. But he must have been waiting for some show of aggression, because he danced back—out of the way.

  “Naughty, naughty,” he said, then slapped her hard across the face. “Resistance is futile. You know, like the Borg used to say on Star Trek.” He laughed at his own joke.

  “But let’s make sure you can’t do that again.” While she was still smarting from the slap, he quickly knelt and secured her ankles to cuffs near the floor.

  “Now we’ll get started.” He stepped back and looked at her. “Tell me why you took the job as Esther Knight.”

  Okay. He wanted to talk. Keep him talking, she thought. The longer he talks, the better.

  “My friend, Beth Cantro, needed someone to fill in.”

  “Are you saying you never intended to make the job permanent?”

  What was the right answer? Amanda licked her lips. “I hadn’t made that decision yet,” she finally temporized.

  “I’m going to make it for you.” When he pulled out a knife, she made a strangled sound of fear.

  He answered with a knowing smile.

  ###

  When the dot stopped moving and stayed in the same position for over two minutes, Zach banged his hands against the wheel. The bastard had arrived at his destination—and that was both good and bad.

  Finding Tony Anderson was going to be a sure thing. But it also meant that he’d taken Amanda to where he intended to deal with her.

  He could kill her now. But Zach was praying he wasn’t going to do that yet. He could have killed her at home, but he’d chosen to cart her away. Where he could have what he undoubtedly thought was quality time with her.

  He made a low sound that was equal parts fear and anger. His foot pressed down on the accelerator. When he overshot the driveway, he had to double back.

  The narrow lane led onto a rural property—and straight toward the green dot on the screen. Zach wanted to roar up the road and mow the guy down with his vehicle. But he wasn’t some kind of comic book superhero. He pulled to a stop in a patch of weeds and jumped out, making his cautious way on foot. The guy could have alarms out, but he was probably too sure of himself to think he needed protection.

  Rounding a curve, he saw the silhouette of a house through the trees. As he drew closer, he saw a white van pulled up in front.

  It flashed through his mind that calling the cops was a definite option now. He knew from the transponder that Amanda was here, and he might need some help.

  The trouble was, he’d seen small-town police departments in action. In a crisis, they tended to go for their guns, and Amanda could get caught in the cross fire.

  For the moment at least, he figured he was better off on his own.

  Weapon drawn, his pulse pounding in his ears, he crept up to one of the windows and cautiously peeked inside. What he saw made the blood in his veins turn to ice.

  His gaze zeroed in on Amanda. She was chained to a wall, her face a mask of fear. And the bastard was standing over her, cutting off her clothing with a hunting knife. He’d cut her shirt off. As Zach watched, he slashed through first one bra strap and then the other. After yanking down the cups and exposing her breasts, he cut the fabric at the front of the garment, then lifted it away from her before tossing it onto the floor.

  The breath solidified in Zach’s lungs. Every instinct made him want to burst through the door and go for the bastard. But not when he was cutting with that knife.

  As he evaluated the situation, Zach decided it didn’t look like Anderson was planning to murder her right away. It looked like he was planning to terrify her first.

  And sick as that thought made Zach, he also knew it bought him some time. Her fear tore at him. He wanted to pr
ess his face against the window to let Amanda see him. He wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone, and he was going to rescue her. But he understood that revealing his presence wasn’t a good idea. If she saw him, the look on her face would change, and that would give too much away. Edging closer, he tried to hear what was going on inside.

  “Write me a letter,” the guy was saying. “I want to hear what advice you’d give to Vicki.”

  Amanda licked her lips. “I don’t know.”

  “Talk!”

  “I . . . I would tell her that she should evaluate her options,” she stammered. “She shouldn’t act hastily.”

  “You’re lying. You’re saying what you think I want to hear.” As he spoke, Anderson raised his hand and slapped her.

  Through the glass, he heard her breath catch. But she didn’t scream.

  He wanted to fly through the door and kill the bastard. But he made himself stay in place.

  Now he was wondering if he’d made the wrong decision. If he met the cops at the end of the road, he could help them keep their cool. The problem was, he might not have time.

  As he watched, Anderson slid his hand down her naked belly and inside the waistband of her slacks.

  The intimate touch of those fingers on Amanda’s flesh was more than Zach could stand. He had to get her out of there before the sicko inflicted any more psychological damage.

  Slowly he twisted the knob and found the door unlocked. Taking a calculated risk that the guy would leap to defend himself, Zach eased the door open a fraction of an inch, then kicked it inward with his foot. Almost in the same moment, he jumped out of the way so that he could look around the edge of the window.

  Through the glass he saw Anderson whirl away from Amanda, grab his gun from the table, and take a couple of steps forward as he fired at the door.

  In old Westerns, the guys holed up in the house broke out the glass in the windows with the butts of their guns before firing. Zach knew that step wasn’t necessary. The glass wasn’t going to slow a bullet from a large caliber gun like his Sig or change the trajectory.

  Raising his weapon, he fired through the window, dodging flying shards of glass, seeing Anderson stagger.

  Amanda screamed, and the bastard half turned back toward her.

  God no! He silently screamed as he kept firing until the kidnapper dropped to the floor and lay unmoving.

  Then Zack burst through the door.

  Amanda stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “It’s all right. Everything’s all right. He can’t hurt you anymore. Just hang on a second,” he shouted, then knelt over Anderson, who was still holding his revolver. And there was a spray of bullets in the door and the wall. When the cops arrived, there would be no doubt what had happened here.

  After he detected no pulse in the man’s neck, Zack felt through his pockets and located a set of keys.

  Standing, he set his weapon on the table in full view, before hurrying to Amanda. She was staring at him with large blue eyes, and he couldn’t deal with the fear and pain he saw there. Quickly he knelt to free her ankles. Then he placed his own body between hers and the thug on the floor while he worked at the chain that held her wrists. When he’d freed her, she sagged into his arms and started to sob.

  “It’s all right. You’re all right. He won’t hurt you again,” he murmured, as he stroked his hands over her back and into her hair.

  She continued to cry, but he felt her nod against his shoulder. He wanted her out of the house—away from the horror of what had happened and away from Anderson’s body.

  Picking her up, he cradled her tenderly in his arms, then carried her out the door and to his car. He opened the passenger door and eased her into the seat, careful of her head as he held her to him and rocked her in his arms, stroked her, giving himself over to a profound sense of relief. And also regret. Because he’d screwed up again. He’d let this happen to her.

  “You’re all right,” he repeated, hoping to God it was true.

  She was trembling in his arms, but he could tell she was trying to get herself under control. Finally she sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m all right because you got here in time.”

  “You kept yourself alive.”

  “I didn’t do much. He was horribly angry. He wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say.”

  All Zack could do was hold her, comfort her, pray that she was going to recover quickly from the trauma.

  Raising her face, she looked into his eyes, and he braced for a barrage of accusations. He felt like he’d been given a reprieve when she said, “I thought I was on my own. How did you know where to find me?”

  “I put a tracker on your watch.”

  “A what?”

  “A transponder that sent out a signal. At the time I thought I was being overcautious. Then I was damn glad I did it.”

  “Yes. And I’m damn glad I put it on.”

  His fingers closed around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  She was still shaking, and he knew she was contemplating her close call. But she was alive, and he knew she was resilient. She’d recover—better than Mindy had. At least he could content himself with that.

  “He . . . he killed Esther.”

  “I know. You had a phone message from Beth Cantro, warning you about him.”

  “Beth called?”

  “Yes, that was the phone call we didn’t answer,” he said, his voice tight. Another bad mistake he’d made.

  Amanda gave a quick nod. “He told me why he killed her. His girlfriend wrote Esther a letter about her boyfriend, and Esther advised her to ditch him. She did, and he was out for revenge. When he found the column was still continuing, he went after the person who was writing it now.” She shuddered.

  He pulled her closer. “It’s all over. But I’ve got to call the cops.”

  She blinked, then looked down at her chest. “I’m half naked.”

  “You can wear my jacket.” Glad he could do something else for her, he eased away, shrugged out of the garment, and helped her get her arms through the sleeves. Then he pulled the front over her breasts and zipped the zipper.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  He cleared his throat. “When the cops come, you’ll need to tell them what happened. How he took you away. And . . . uh . . . you saw that he fired first, right?”

  She nodded, then sat up straighter. “Yes, I’m perfectly clear on that. You made a noise at the door and drew his fire. He started shooting, and you fired back.”

  “Yes.”

  Still holding her, he got out his cell phone and called the local cops and told them what had happened.

  Then he sat back and hugged her to him, thinking how lucky he was to still have her in his arms. When she got over the shock, she was going to remember that she’d gotten captured by Anderson because Zachary Grant had walked out of the house and left her alone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For Amanda, the next few hours passed in a blur. The St. Stephens cops called the State Police, who arrived and inspected the “crime scene.” She supposed that’s what it was called. Then she and Zach separately told what had happened.

  After that, they had to go down to the police barracks and make formal statements. Zach shepherded her through the process, but she sensed that he was distancing himself from her.

  On the way home, he hardly said a word to her. She slid him a sidewise glance, wanting to stretch out her hand and lay it over his. But she didn’t, because she felt like she couldn’t reach him. Not now.

  She wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing at the window watching her and Tony Anderson inside the abandoned house. But she knew he’d seen at least some of what the stalker had done to her. And she knew there were men who would react very negatively to that. They wouldn’t want a relationship with a woman who’d been mauled by someone else—even if it wasn’t her fault.

  She knew she and Zach needed to talk, but every time
she tried to think of what to say, the words froze in her throat.

  He pulled up at the house, and they silently got out of the car, then stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen.

  Because she couldn’t deal with the look of tension on his face, she said, “I think maybe I’d like to take a shower.”

  “I understand,” he said stiffly. “But Beth called. She was worried about you, and you should tell her you’re okay.”

  “Lord, I forgot all about her. Of course, you’re right.” Rushing to the phone, she punched in her friend’s home number.

  Beth answered on the first ring. “Amanda! I’ve been sitting by the phone, hoping you’d call. Did you get my message? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She sucked in a breath and let it out, wondering how much to say. Then she realized that it was probably going to make the papers in New York, since Esther was from there. “Now, don’t get worried,” she said.

  “Amanda, what happened?”

  “That guy—Tony Anderson—he came after me. But. . . but Zach rescued me.”

  He was standing to her right, and she could see his face contort, but he said nothing.

  “Where’s Anderson? Is he still a threat?” Beth asked.

  “Zach shot him. He’s dead.”

  As she heard the strangled exclamation on the other end of the line, she sank down onto one of the barstools at the kitchen counter. “It’s okay. Honest, It worked out okay,”

  “Were you there when . . . when it happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my God. I got you into this, didn’t I?”

  “Beth, it is not your fault,” she responded, and then launched into an explanation of what had happened.

  It took twenty minutes to reassure her friend. And she had to make a promise that she’d call the next day.

  “You look exhausted,” Zach said when she got off the phone.

  “We’ll talk later,” she answered in a tight voice, then hurried down the hall to the bathroom.

  She had used up all her emotional energy for the moment, and she wanted to be alone. She didn’t want any surprises, so she carefully locked the door. After turning on the water in the shower, she stripped off her clothing, then stepped under the spray—turning it up as hot as she could stand.