If you’ve been drugged or knocked out, never let them know when you’re awake.
That voice, the one in her head, was so much more pleasant and comforting than the one she’d just heard. Alec.
“Kate? Are you awake?” The demand was loud and close, so close she could feel his breath on her face. But she didn’t budge. Her eyelids didn’t even flutter. No, she would never let him know she was awake.
“You better sleep, you little bitch. Because I’ll kill you here if I have to, though it wouldn’t be very neat.” She sensed him moving away, hearing shoes hit hardwood as he walked. “Of course, I’ve had worse evidence to deal with in a case, and I didn’t even get to plant it all myself. That poor schmuck Wesley will never get away with this, and I’ll be rid of both a pesky ex-wife and that little prick who thinks he can make me look like a fool in court.”
She heard water running, far enough away to give her the courage to open her eyes to slits and figure out where she was. A bed. A dark room. That looked so much like hers. She was in another Casa Blanca villa.
The knowledge that she was still on the property buoyed her and, for a split second, numbed her pain. Alec couldn’t be far away.
In fact, this was one of the new villas, she’d bet. Steven couldn’t have gotten her much farther than that, but he could have easily gotten her here through the connected back areas without being seen, if he’d rented the villa next to theirs.
Would Alec come back and think she’d lied to Poppy? That she’d run? Was his guilt that massive that he didn’t trust her to stay?
And yet she was right next door.
She had to think, but the slamming headache made that nearly impossible. Pain shot from the base of her neck, down her spine and arms to her…her bound hands.
Shit. Her wrists were stuck together, and her bare feet, too, bound with what felt like iron bands but also felt eerily familiar. Duct tape.
She could break duct tape! Except…she tried to lift her hands, a thud of disappointment hitting hard as she realized her arms were immobilized, likely taped to her waist with more duct tape. So much for the trick that Alec had taught her. And the same tape squeezed her lips and cheeks, making it impossible to scream, even if she’d thought that could save her.
Which she didn’t. She would have to outsmart him to find a way out of this, and knowing Steven Jessup, that wouldn’t be easy. A criminal defense attorney orchestrating a murder? Yeah, it would be very difficult to outsmart him.
She fought the urge to moan at the pain in her head, refusing to give him any edge, or any reason to hurt her again. Instead, she lay perfectly still, modulating her breathing, trying like hell to use a brain that felt flat and numb and…she couldn’t think of another word. Her, Kate Kingston, queen of big words.
He’d probably given her a concussion, the son of a bitch. But he’d give her more than that if she moved.
A loud knocking yanked her from stillness, making her jerk.
“Go the fuck away,” Steven murmured, his voice telling her he couldn’t be more than five feet from her.
The knocking just got louder. “Resort security! Please open the door or we will enter.”
It took everything and more not to react, not to jump for joy and raise her bound hands in victory. Hell, yes, they were good. But she had to stay perfectly still.
“Goddammit.” Footsteps accompanied his curse, but Steven didn’t go far. He was in the vestibule, as best she could tell, and if this villa was anything like hers, he could see her and the front door from there.
“Please don’t come in,” he called.
“We need to speak with every guest.”
“There’s no need to speak to me.”
Oh, yes, there was. Storm the place, Alec. It didn’t sound like him, but her instincts told her he couldn’t be far. He’d found her missing, he’d called in the cavalry, he wouldn’t let her die.
She let her body sink deeper into a fake sleep, hoping that it would be enough to get Steven to go to the door. Maybe if she could have a minute alone, she could figure out how he’d taped her. Maybe figure out a way to free her arms so she could get it off her mouth and scream bloody murder.
She heard him move, but couldn’t be sure which direction without turning her head and looking. She couldn’t take the chance Steven would see her move.
“We’d like to talk to every guest, immediately,” the man on the other side of the door said. “We have a missing-person alert on the property and would like to show you her picture.”
“Slide it under the door. I’m just out of the shower.”
“We’d like to talk to you, Mr. Johnson.”
Johnson, my ass. Still, Steven didn’t move, no doubt spinning through the legalities of what resort security was allowed to do. Get a warrant for any guest who wouldn’t cooperate, but they couldn’t enter. Not legally or without probable cause.
“I need a few minutes,” Steven said. “Please come back later.”
“We’ll wait.”
Steven didn’t answer, but she could hear him move swiftly, returning to the bed to give her a hard shake. Testing her. She had no idea what he’d hit her with, but it hadn’t been hard enough to knock her out for so long. He must know that.
But the only thing that moved on her body was her heart, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he saw it pounding against her chest.
Fear was an amazing thing. Fear and determination to live. Her mouth didn’t even twitch, and her eyes stayed still.
He scooped her up, sliding his hands under her knees and back, grunting with the effort to lift her off the bed. Steven had never been much for working out, she thought, so she prayed he didn’t drop her and force her to “wake up.”
Her feet banged the doorjamb of the bathroom as she knew exactly where he was taking her. He put her in the soaker tub, not caring when her head tapped against the marble. She flinched and moaned, but made it sound like she was still asleep.
He shook her again. “Don’t die in here, Kate. That will completely fuck up the TOD and ruin everything.”
Time of Death. Oh, God.
Don’t move, Kate. Don’t breathe. Don’t fling your bound hands up and try to smash his face in, because you’ll lose.
It wasn’t Steven’s voice she heard in her head, or even her own; it was Alec’s. Walking her through everything she needed to do. And right now, she needed to play nearly dead, if not all the way dead.
She heard Steven’s shoe scuff, the door close, a latch click.
She had to be absolutely certain he was out in the hall and talking to security, and not trying to fool her.
She waited a few seconds and sneaked a peek. The tub, the floor, the toilet. She was alone. As quietly as she could, she pushed herself up, trying not to fall backward and make a thump. Her hands were bound with tape, but, like she thought, he’d wrapped the tape around her waist so she couldn’t lift her arms and split the tape like Alec had taught her. Her ankles and calves were taped securely with what had to be ten feet of duct tape.
Damn it!
From the other side of the door, she heard men’s voices, but couldn’t make out the words. Should she throw herself at the door and hope they heard? Or would her ex-husband be able to explain it away, all silky, smooth Steven-style?
She managed to get her feet over the side of the tub, then lift her body using only the power of her abs. Which weren’t very powerful, but got the job done. She got her legs over the marble ledge and thrust herself up, enough to tumble to the ground.
Noisily.
Biting back a moan of indescribable head pain, she made her way to the door, turning around to open it with her hands. The knob didn’t budge. He couldn’t have locked it from the outside.
But something was jamming the mechanism.
Damn it! She searched the room for something, anything, to rub the tape against to cut it. She shook now, fully aware that if that door opened and Steven walked in, he’d kill her.
What the
hell was wrong with him? She’d known he was a control freak, a narcissist, and an asshole, but a killer?
Apparently, yes.
She couldn’t think about that. Instead, she forced herself to a wobbly stand and scanned the room again, zeroing in on the shower door latch. One tiny sliver of chrome with an edge that was about the right height to cut the tape in the back. Then she’d have to either try to split the tape that bound her wrists or rip it off her mouth and scream.
She hopped to the shower, managed to maneuver enough to open the door, and turned, getting up on her tiptoes to line up the chrome strip with the tape around her waist.
Rising and falling, rubbing and praying, she worked frantically to saw through the few layers of tape. But it stayed firm and secure. She stopped long enough to listen to the distant voices, imagining the scene.
Someone from McBain Security at the door, Steven using his glib tongue and snake-charmer appeal to keep them out there. Taking a flyer with a picture of her, nodding seriously, promising to report it if he saw her.
She dug into her memory of a hotel lawsuit she’d studied in school. Security couldn’t enter the premises…unless hotel management had reason to believe the occupant was engaged in something illegal.
If she screamed, they would believe just that. If she could get this damn tape off!
She pushed harder against the door and managed only to slam it closed, forcing her to turn around and start the whole process again. Sweat rolled down her back as each breath was a battle and her heart rate soared.
Come on, come on.
Finally, she heard the slightest crack of the tape, and that just made her move up and down more furiously. Please rip, please rip, please—
She heard the tear, slow and sweet, like music to her ears, instantly yanking her hands up once they weren’t secured at her hips. Should she scream or try to get her hands free?
If they heard her—the door slammed outside.
Shit! They left?
She hoisted her hands high over her head, smashed her elbows together, and took a breath. Then she swung her arms ferociously, spreading her elbows at her hips, and instantly heard the frrriiiip of the tape tearing open.
At precisely the same second that the bathroom door flew open, smacked her in the face, and knocked her onto her ass.
“Oh, Kate. What the hell are you trying to do? Outwit me?” Steven just chuckled, like he always did when he had the upper hand. And, damn it, he always had the upper hand.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Alec had to hand it to security head Luke McBain, and everyone in his employ, including Gabe Rossi. They moved like a well-oiled machine in a crisis, but the machine didn’t produce what Alec wanted: Kate.
She had to be somewhere on this island, most likely still at the resort, because he hadn’t been away from her that long. But, as Luke had just reminded them, the first fifteen minutes to an hour of any disappearance were the most critical.
Each minute that passed, Alec had a harder time reining in his need to run, howl, punch, and kill someone. Kate was gone, and nothing in him would allow him to believe she’d left on her own. If she had, wouldn’t she have gone to her father? That poor guy was almost as miserable as Alec.
“The sheriff’s office has closed off the causeway and is starting to search the island, but right now, we’re handling this property,” Luke said, standing in the middle of McBain Security, surrounded by anxious faces. Alec had done one mission with French Foreign Legionnaires, and those guys were badass and serious. Right now, Luke’s training was showing. “Now I want to hear about every room and villa we didn’t get into.”
A woman Alec didn’t recognize came to the front with a piece of paper, naming the flowery villas like Rockrose, Saffron, and African Daisy, giving occupants’ names and reports of who let security in. “Obviously, Caralluma is empty.” That was Alec’s villa. “So is Blue Casbah. The south villa, Sea Heath, is where a Mr. Robert Johnson is staying. He declined entry.”
“He’s alone?” Luke asked.
“He’s checked in under one name.”
One pretty damn common name, Alec thought.
“Who talked to him?” Luke asked.
“I did.” Another one of Luke’s security professionals came forward, a brawny guy named Miles, whom Alec had met only once. “Lots of legal double-talk, but he wouldn’t let me in without probable cause for…something.”
“Fucking lawyers,” Gabe growled. “Everything’s a damn fight.”
“Oh, you should have heard this blowhard,” Miles said. “Sounded like the reincarnation of JFK or something.”
A few people chuckled, but Alec turned to him. “A Boston accent?” he demanded.
“Thick. That made deciphering his legal mumbo jumbo even tougher.”
Alec whipped around to share a look with Gabe, who was no doubt thinking exactly what he was. A lawyer? From Boston? Without another word, Alec shot out of the bungalow, vaguely aware that at least one other person was behind him. But he didn’t wait.
“Get a golf cart,” Gabe called.
But Alec ignored him, trusting his legs and speed far more than machinery. He tore up the side of the farmette, ducking tree branches with every long stride, raw determination fueling his steps.
Was it that Wesley character? Someone else? Didn’t matter. It was too close to home, too personal. Which was the worst-case scenario. He tore through the resort, praying he wasn’t too late.
*
“I saw a man leave.” Steven loomed over her. “You were supposed to be alone.” He braced his body over Kate and grabbed one of the arms she’d just worked so damn hard to free.
What did he mean, she was supposed to be alone? How did he even know—
“I thought the whole idea was that you were alone.” He dropped to pin her upper arms to the floor with his knees, his crotch in her face as he essentially crucified her to the merciless marble. “Kate!”
He almost spit his frustration, sounding so like the Steven she knew: Of course it’s your fault my plan is falling apart, Kate. You fuck up everything.
She looked up at him from the bathroom floor, fighting a nauseous mix of fear and regret and frustration. She had to think. Had to think of everything Alec had taught her.
Steven Jessup was not going to win this one. She would escape and run, exactly as Alec had taught her to do. Except he hadn’t taught her what to do when her ankles were bound and her mouth was taped shut. Her hands were free, but how long would they stay that way?
“It’s time to leave, Kate.” He looked up to the bathroom counter, probably for a weapon, while Kate rooted around her brain for a weapon of her own.
Stab the eyes, twist the ears, slam his mouth right up his nose. Then grab the throat, kick the groin, bend the fingers, and stomp the toes.
Alec’s soft-target song echoed in her head, but she wasn’t able to follow any of the instructions in this position, with her arms under the weight of Steven’s body and—oomph.
He sat down hard, his ass on her chest. She looked up at him, trying to communicate, moaning noises that he might think were words…words he had to hear. Maybe he’d take the tape off her mouth.
Instead, he just looked down at her as if she disgusted him. “Did you really think you’d beat me at life, Kate?”
She ignored the question—not that she could answer it, anyway. Nobody beat Steven Jessup at anything, and she’d never understood what drove that competitive insecurity, beyond being the second child of a demanding father.
Didn’t matter. Psychology wasn’t going to get her out of this. She continued spinning through every possible scenario, like Alec had taught her. Look for weapons anywhere. The toilet was hard, the shower was glass, and she had her knees. If she could knee him hard enough in the back, it might put him off-balance.
“Surely you knew I wasn’t going to let you win,” he continued. “I wasn’t going to let you divorce me and make me a laughingstock. You’re going to die, and t
hat prick Mike Wesley’s going to be charged for your murder, which will ruin his career no matter how that trial comes out. Although if I do this right, he’ll get life at least. And you’ll get what you deserve.” He grinned, so pleased with himself.
What the hell was the matter with him? Maybe she did need to use psychology to outsmart him.
“I really would like to get this over with,” he said, reaching down to close his hands around her throat. “And while the pleasure of killing you right now is irresistible, I wouldn’t get away with it.”
He wasn’t going to get away with it anyway, didn’t he see that? It gave her some sense of security, knowing he was too smart to do something that would leave evidence. Not if he was trying to pin this on some other lawyer.
His fingers tightened around her throat, and she automatically jerked, throwing her knees up to slam him in the back, but he was far enough forward that the move did nothing but make him grunt…and squeeze her throat harder.
“I’d like to kill you right now,” he said, the statement weirdly, freakishly calm. “But I’ve been planning this for too long. All those notes and setting up Wesley. Convincing him to get in line and hit on your friend. Working your dad’s new assistant to find out where he sent you. It took time and planning, and so will the rest.”
Of course he could get access to Dad’s assistant. He was the former son-in-law, practically family. He could charm anyone, especially a woman.
“Although, if I kill you now, I could get you out of here when it’s dark, especially if there’s no blood. No clues. No evidence. The evidence has to be up in North Carolina where Wesley and Laurie are going on a little trip together to a cabin that just happened to become available for them.” He pressed harder, making her choke into the unforgiving tape. “But that would screw up the autopsy report.”
So he couldn’t kill her now. He relaxed his hands, and she could breathe through her nose, then he jerked to his feet and yanked her up, suddenly twisting her around and getting both her arms behind her.
Stab the eyes, twist the ears, slam his mouth right up his nose.
Barefoot With a Bodyguard (Barefoot Bay Undercover) (Volume 1) Page 23
