I went into the bedroom and dug around until I could find something I could stand to put on. The t-shirt was oversized, but not too bad. The board shorts were too long on me, made for a taller man, but I was more or less decent, and not too hot.
I went back out to the kitchen humming. "Any chance of letting me go jogging later? You could put some kind of GPS anklet on me or something, right? Or go along with me?" I glanced at him, daring to look hopeful as I moved to the cupboard and got out some plates.
"You're not leaving this house," he growled. He was really getting annoyed at me. Probably hungry, too.
"I can finish that if you want."
"You'd probably poison me."
"Now, would I?" I put a hand against my chest and aped surprise. Actually that was a good idea, but it hadn't occurred to me.
"You can eat in your bedroom," he advised me, an edge of menace in his voice. Damn, I was really getting on the man's nerves.
I sagged, sad at the thought of not having even this jerk to talk to. "Okay."
I said nothing as he finished cooking; it was a pasta dish, but not the kind of spaghetti I was used to. I said nothing while he dished a plate for himself and then I moved over to get myself a plateful as well.
"Is there any cheese?" I asked plaintively.
At that he snapped, and started for me. For a moment, I was frozen, aghast. What had I done now? But he was really angry.
From my brief glimpse of his eyes, I had read a great deal more than I wanted to. He might be unemotional in general, but he was also a killer and a man deadly with pain. I had forgotten that — I had been fighting my stress about being locked up. I hadn't remembered my place, in his point of view.
It was always good to keep his hand in, he felt. He hadn't tortured anyone for a while. He didn't have to kill me, but he did have to make me shut up, the hard way, and that was what he meant to do.
He grabbed the oversized fork he'd held a moment ago to dish out the pasta and started for me. I let out a moan that was humiliatingly frightened. I was reading too much in his eyes, in his emotions, and his smile broadened as he recognized it, recognized that I knew what he meant to do to me — if not the substance, then the painful, cruel effect.
"Oh, no, no, no," I said, desperate, backing away from him now. I shook my head hard. "I can't help it, not really. I just talk a lot."
"Then we'll have to do something about that." He grinned nastily. "Something to your tongue, maybe."
"I d—"
I stopped, like a hunting dog smelling something. I could've raised a paw and pointed with my muzzle, it was that clear, like a ringing bell . . .
He stopped too, and looked back automatically. Then his expression got uglier. "Don't pull any of that psychic crap on me. There's nobody else here. I have all the time in the world with you that I want. I can put off your sale for a few days — or weeks."
His words scared me — scared me a lot, frankly, but I'd have been more frightened if I hadn't recognized the people who were approaching outside. There was the intensity of police officers, or someone like that — someone here to get the job done — and better yet, Kevin and Martin.
I didn't have to get tortured after all. As long as they hurried.
I raised my hands, taking cautious steps backwards, anxious not to trip. He was really losing it. I guess he'd been under a lot of stress lately.
Well, imagine that. So had I.
With the knowledge that backup was on the way, and the man in front of me meant me harm and might shoot Kev or Martin if he saw them in time, I was suddenly braver. Yes, I knew he was stronger and better at everything than I was — we both knew that. And that was why he in no way expected me to attack, or fight back.
I grabbed for the first item at hand — it turned out to be a throw pillow — and threw it in his face. Then I ran.
I kicked a stool into his path behind me — and I kept fucking moving. I ran to the bathroom, because there were no bars on the windows there and there was a small lock on the door. My heart beat wildly and I was terrified. He'd catch me; it was like a nightmare. He was going to catch me and there was nothing I could do —
In the bathroom, I slammed the door shut, locked it, and dashed to the toilet. With shaking hands, I grabbed the heavy top off and turned back to face him.
BAM! He'd gotten through really quickly. Did the lock not work after all? One kick had done it . . .
Now I heard another noise outside, someone kicking open another door — a sturdier one. I felt Martin calling to me mentally, trying to calm me down, but it was too late for that. I threw the toilet lid at my captor, the furious man armed only with a large fork, who could kill me with that (or anything else) easily enough.
He tried to dodge, but it was a close space. The toilet lid hit him hard in the chest, making him stagger back for an instant and shoving a huff of breath out of him.
"Police! Don't move!" shouted an authoritative voice. I heard boots.
My captor gave me one last hard look, debating, even now, whether it was worth it to kill me before he ran.
I stood there facing him, breathing hard, my eyes wild and my heart beating in desperation, hands clenching into and out of fists, waiting to fight him. I wouldn't make the first move, though. With a snort, he moved to the window and began to pry it open. It seemed to be a complicated mechanism, and although there were no bars, it was noisy and time-consuming. No wonder he hadn't worried about me getting out this way.
I stood back and watched, mesmerized, unable to get past him without brushing against him, and unwilling to try. "How did they get past the security?" he muttered aloud. I could feel him calming down now that he had something to do, even if it was run for his life. Maybe he'd been going stir-crazy as well.
I didn't have an answer for him. Then I thought: Martin.
In my head, a familiar voice thought, Yes. I could feel he was pleased with himself.
Martin, you shit, I told him sternly. You snuck in here to turn off his warning systems but you didn't help me?
I'd gone outside already when he started chasing you, he said, annoyed at me for doubting him. Anyway, we're here now. Don't let him go.
I'm letting him go. Fuck you. I don't want to be stabbed with a fork.
Martin's concentration wavered at that point, and we lost our spontaneous, instant contact. It had taken only moments to get that much information back and forth between us — along with a wealth of undertones it would be difficult to put into words, such as how pleased with himself Martin was for coming to my rescue — and embarrassed, too. He had complicated feelings about all of it.
Me? I just wanted to get away from this bastard. He got the window open — it flew up with a bang — and he was gone in an instant, not even looking back. I didn't dare call a taunt after him; he might come back.
I got out of that bathroom quickly — just in time to throw my hands in the air and scream, "Don't shoot!"
I was still trembling — quite hard — when Martin arrived. "He's the hostage, dimwit!" he snapped, pushing his way forward and shoving the sunglasses-wearing square-jawed type away from me.
The man lowered his gun — slightly.
"Don't aim there, either!" I said in a panicked voice. "I need it!" I covered my guts and groin as best I could with two very nervous hands.
Martin pushed the man away, growling, grumbling something about overzealous men and guns. Then he turned to me, and I turned to him, and suddenly neither of us had anything to say.
He'd come to rescue me; he'd heard me. He'd heard the voice of my despair and weeping, and that was deeply embarrassing. But he'd come to get me. I wanted to fling myself into his arms, though at the same time I didn't want to look at him. It was a confusing way to feel.
Then I saw a man I had much less conflicted feelings about. "Kevin!" I flung myself at him and into his arms, almost knocking him back because he hadn't been expecting me. He staggered — we both did — but he squeezed me tightly, not letting go.
His hug was tight enough to hurt my bruised ribs, actually. "Kev — Kev — Kev — I didn't mean it," I said against his shoulder, shaking harder than ever now that I was finally safe.
"Yes, you did, but it's okay." He kissed the side of my face quickly, not letting me go. He picked me up — I wrapped my legs round him tightly — and turned away, then carried me outside.
"Is Ellery okay?" I whispered. "Tell me he's safe?" I was crying now; I hated that. I hate crying on the best of days, and this was far from that, but it was all hitting me really hard.
"He's fine. He's safe in a nearby hotel. Come on, we'll get you checked out," said Kev gruffly. "Did he hurt you?"
"Not much. Not really."
He carried me to a place halfway down the street, where they'd set up a command post in someone's borrowed home. Medical assistance was waiting there, and people were coordinating things with radios and computers.
"He's crossing some fields. They'll have him in no time," someone informed Kevin.
Kev gave him a sharp nod, still holding me, and then put me down in the kitchen. Apparently I was as light as a child to him. He stroked a hand very tenderly back over my hair, even as he snapped to someone medical, "Please check over the hostage." Then he added, "You're all right now, Peter. You're all right. And you'll never be locked up again as long as you live, I promise."
#
After that, things passed me by for a bit. I was in a daze; they were concerned I might be going into shock. They took care of me extremely well, but I wasn't really up to talking. Kevin hovered over me like a protective parent when he wasn't barking orders and sending people scurrying around.
I was poked, prodded, wrapped in a blanket, given glucose and painkillers, and tested and questioned carefully by the medics. At last, I was allowed to lie down in a dark room. They let Kevin stay with me. I couldn't bear for him to go.
He held my hand while I fell into a short, fitful sleep. When I woke up, I felt much better, more human. I was able to ask him more coherently about what had happened.
"Can I come in yet?" asked Martin. He was standing outside the door suddenly. As was his M.O., no one else had noticed him at all.
Kevin jumped.
"Come on," I told him, scowling. "As if you ever ask."
"Hey, I asked," he said indignantly. But I felt rueful acknowledgement from him in the undercurrent of our connection. He hadn't meant for us to become so close, either. We seemed to be tied together now, for better or for worse.
It was for better this time, I reminded myself.
Yes, he added. He wanted to tell me something, but he was too embarrassed. He hung back, even though I was sitting up in bed and fully dressed.
Kev was sitting beside me, rubbing a hand on my back, comforting and possessive, still trying to get me to be okay. It felt good, and I needed a bit of grounding. Where Kevin was concerned, I rarely had any personal space issues. I certainly didn't today. But Martin was hesitant to enter the room with us.
I patted the bed firmly. "What happened?" I didn't care who answered, but I wanted answers.
"They caught him. Winged him," Martin said, and coughed.
"Great." My voice was flat and sarcastic. Of course they'd caught him, if he'd been reduced to running across fields! Even he couldn't go up against a whole SWAT-type team armed only with a large fork.
I suspected he'd be haunting my nightmares for a while, but I'd survived — with everything intact, as well, except for a few years scared off my life.
"How did you find me?" I said, trying not to sound as grumpy as I was starting to feel. Was it a big secret?
"I told Kevin what happened, of course, and Martin helped him track you down," said Ellery, stepping into the room. He was so quiet — emotionally, that is — that I hadn't even noticed him, with all the stronger feelings swirling around.
He had the feeling of one who had just arrived, rushing and desperate to see me, but now that he was here, he seemed very still. His eyes and face held strain, but shone warm with love for me.
He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, at least. My capture had aged him — there were tight lines on his face and residual pain in his eyes. Even the way he carried himself looked like he was still expecting another blow.
He'd never looked more precious and beautiful to me.
"Ell!" I jumped to my feet, ran to him, and pulled him into my arms. He was laughing then, and so was I, too hard, like it was going to turn into tears in a moment. I kissed him and nuzzled him, and then just breathed him in, holding on, feeling grounded and real. He held on to me, too, but not very tightly; they must've told him my ribs were bruised.
"You okay?" he whispered to me.
"Mm-hm." I nodded, and then reached up to touch his face, to wipe away the single tear that had escaped. He smiled at me bravely. We held on to each other's hands as I drew him gingerly to the bed and sat down beside him, as close as I possibly could.
"I got here as soon as I could. They wouldn't let me come with the team of security experts Kevin hired." He shot Kevin a narrow-eyed look.
Kevin looked apologetic. "I had no time to wait for the ESRB to mobilize forces. I used some contacts of mine."
Raising a small army even faster than the ESRB could have? That was my Kev.
Ellery returned his attention to me. "I told Kevin about the threats," said Ellery, swallowing hard. "Of course I did. I couldn't handle that myself. I knew Kevin cared more about you than some contracts or other. So we started working on a plan to find you and get you free without alerting them. We went along with it while we were trying to find you."
I looked at Kevin. I knew he cared about me more, but . . .
He seemed self-conscious. "I had the lawyers insert a couple of sneaky clauses into the contracts. We'll have grounds to go back on some things if it turns out we need to." He seemed to feel sure that that would be the case, once everything had been investigated more thoroughly — for years, if need be — and he felt satisfied with that.
I gave a short nod. "Anything else?"
I looked at Martin, wondering what else I was missing. Ell snuggled against my side and let out a sigh. I thought of cocoa and cozy nights curling up together under warm blankets. I couldn't wait to get home with him. I was ready for all the comforts.
Kevin was telling the story now. "I knew you wouldn't have left that way, but we had no proof. When you called me, I let you convince me." He looked at me in a way that said he knew it hadn't all been a lie, even though I'd exaggerated some of my feelings. In his look was gentle acceptance, commiseration, and something tender and protective that promised me he'd help make my life better and safer, so that I'd never have to feel trapped again.
I gave him a little nod, feeling grateful and shy. I'd rather he think it had all been a lie, but at the same time, it was good he knew . . . and best of all that he cared.
"Then Martin contacted us," said Kevin, giving the other empath a grateful, acknowledging nod. "He knew you were in trouble, and while I gathered a team through some trusted security agencies, he worked to pinpoint your location. He put a lot of effort into finding you, and with remarkable accuracy." He gave Martin another respectful look.
Martin was blushing. I looked at him properly and blinked. He'd changed since we'd first met. He'd lost a couple of pounds and grown a goatee. He looked like he wanted to shuffle his feet, then stare down at the tops of his shoes. I thought he seemed vulnerable and exposed in a way he hadn't previously.
"Martin?" I asked gently.
He'd rescued me, and I cared about him, and it wasn't a feeling I could control. He was my family now, too, in that strange way empathic bonding and communication created. I would probably always be able to contact him, whether either of us wanted that bond to stay open or not.
Probably neither of us did. Although, I must admit, it had been wonderful having someone know where I was and come to find me.
He looked up suddenly and looked me in the eye almost defiantly. No, definite
ly defiantly.
He didn't seem as invulnerable as he had in the past. He seemed shaken by something, perhaps, or worried. I couldn't sort it out, though I could read him better than the brick wall he'd been to me at first. It was still a very dim sort of reading. He blocked me easily, and perhaps even automatically, except for that connection between us, and it wasn't a very clear signal, at least on my side.
"I've quit," he said. "I don't work with corporations anymore. I had a lot to think over, and, well, I'm still thinking. But I'm not working with any big corporations, or little ones. I'm a lone wolf now."
I almost snickered. He sounded so dramatic, he couldn't be serious. But he was. He gave me a hard look, as if daring me to laugh, and I realized he was really a little frightened.
"I don't want to be part of something like that anymore. No offense to your friend, but a lot of people want to use empaths for bad reasons, or pit us against each other, and, well, I don't want that anymore. You're not my enemy. They scared you both pretty badly — even shooting the guy who snatched you — all for the back and forth games over who gets what contract, what money, what ESRB graduate. Well, no thanks. Till I know who I can trust — if anyone — and if there's any value to it at all, I don't have to be part of it, and I won't. And that means the ESRB too, until I've figured some things out."
I digested that, or tried to. "Wait. The people who snatched us in the cab — they shot their own agent?"
He shook his head impatiently, waving the question away. "No, of course not. That was — well, I'm not entirely sure, because they always go through a third party who doesn't know much, so you can't really read too many motives from anyone, but I think it was part of someone's plan to scare you or snatch you. Best guess? Whoever hired your buddy to snatch and threaten you. Someone else was getting in the way, snatching you instead, so the distraction happened, someone got shot, you got away — and it was a fuckup too, because they had to wait till things had calmed down a bit to actually go through with the snatch. But it's all the same. It's all about money and power games. I'm fed up with it."
SURE (Men of the ESRB Book 3) Page 18
