by Lori Foster
She snapped, “Will you watch the road before you kill us all?”
He grinned suggestively and went back to driving.
Terrance, the passenger in front, scowled. “Who says you get to play with her?”
“I’m the one who took the worst beating from that gorilla who came after her. She owes me.”
Sahara felt her nerves fraying. She drew up her legs and kicked Andy’s seat. Hard. “He’s not a gorilla!”
The car swerved dangerously, sliding on the wet road and damn near spinning. Olsen thrust out an arm to pin her in place until Andy got control of the car again.
Everyone was silent in shock.
Sahara, who’d half slid down the seat, struggled back up.
Olsen gripped her face in a hard hand. “Do anything like that again and you won’t like the consequences.”
“What will you do,” she sneered as best she could, given how he squeezed her cheeks. “Kidnap me? Tie me up? Freeze me to death?”
Terrance laughed. “By God, she’s got balls.”
Olsen thrust her away. “She won’t be so ballsy when I stick her in the trunk.”
Sahara snorted.
He turned to her. “Naked. I’ll stuff you in there naked—and I’ll let Andy be the one to strip you.”
Okay, maybe that quelled a little of her rebelliousness. But not all. “Ross is going to be furious. Did you know he visited me?” She lifted her chin. “We had a nice, friendly chat. He asked me out to dinner.”
Another silent shock ballooned, then burst with a million outraged questions from all directions. She sat in smug silence until they wound down, then said with derision, “Oh, so you didn’t know? Hmm. Interesting.”
Olsen, being the closest, opted for the most intimidation—by pointing the gun directly at her. “Where did he visit you?”
“A party at Douglas Grant’s house.” She took pleasure in saying, “Do you know the DA? He’s a pig, so I assume you’re good friends.”
Olsen looked blank.
Terrance jerked around over the seat to glare at her. “Why the fuck would he be visiting the DA?”
Sahara smiled. “Why, to see me, of course. He likes me.” Her gaze coasted over all of them. “He’s going to be so enraged when he sees how you’ve treated me.”
“Fuck him,” Andy said with venom, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. “We need to get paid!”
“We’re here,” Olsen said calmly. “Pull around back.”
Sahara bent to see out the windshield, but until the headlights hit a stained glass window, she didn’t realize they were at a church. At least there shouldn’t be a bed, meaning that had only been an idle threat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’s abandoned,” Olsen said, already clenching one freckled hand around her arm. “Don’t get any ideas about salvation.”
She managed a credible laugh. “I bet you all incinerate the second you set foot on holy ground.”
Olsen started to open the door, but it was suddenly jerked out of his hand, spilling him halfway out. Since he had a grip on Sahara, she got jerked across the seat.
The pressure on her tightly tied arms made her groan.
Ross Moran stood there, big, blue-eyed, heaving with fury. He seemed impervious to the rain drenching him, plastering his hair to his head, gluing his shirt to his broad shoulders. His fisted hands hung tense at his sides, and his scorching gaze went over her as she struggled upright.
Their eyes met, then his attention shot to Olsen. “Start explaining.”
Sensing a change in her situation, Sahara asked, “Could I please get inside first? I’m soaked, freezing and I’d dearly love to have the feeling restored in my arms.” After all, she couldn’t run off into the night, during a storm, with her arms so tightly tied. She knew she wouldn’t make it far.
If they’d remove the ropes and she could get her bearings, well then...
The blaze of anger on Ross’s face settled into an inferno of quiet rage. He withdrew a large knife from a sheath on his belt and said, “Turn around.”
Terrance protested, saying, “Ross—”
The knife pointed in Terrance’s direction. “Shut the fuck up. I’ll deal with you next.”
Alarmed, he squeaked, “Me?”
Ross looked at Olsen and Andy. “All of you.”
Trying to look brave, Andy stepped out into the rain, too—and promptly pulled up the collar to his jacket, already shivering. “We need our money, damn it.”
“I got your fucking money, moron.” Gently, Ross pressed her forward to better expose her hands. “Don’t move.” He sliced cleanly through the ropes.
“What do you mean, you have the money?” Olsen asked.
“Her brother paid it.”
More questions exploded.
“Gentlemen, please.” Sahara bit back tears as feeling rushed into her aching arms, up to her shoulders and into her neck. “Let’s get out of this miserable rain.”
Ross said, “The three of you go on in.”
Olsen heaved a sigh. “Sorry, no can do, boss. She’s got you bewitched, but what’s done is done. We can’t just turn her loose now.”
“No,” Ross agreed, “we can’t.” He scooped Sahara up into his arms, ignoring the groan she couldn’t stifle.
Her entire body ached, and now more rain drenched her. “Please tell me this relic is heated.”
“No,” Olsen said, walking alongside them. “But we installed a heater. If you don’t dismantle it, you should be warm enough soon.”
Soon she’d be free, but she kept that to herself. She couldn’t quite tell if Ross was with his comrades, or against them. His trite “no, we can’t” bothered her a lot.
Then again, he wasn’t a stupid man so he had to realize that taking a stand at this particular moment could get them both killed.
“I’m capable of walking.”
“Barefoot?” He carried her easily, leaning over her to help shield her from the rain. “I can barely see where I’m going, but I’ve already discovered roots grown through concrete, broken glass and rocks.”
Sahara peered down and saw that he was right. The puddles forming everywhere couldn’t hide the treacherous path. Not that she’d thank him. He was the one who’d started this absurd campaign against her.
They went up rickety wooden steps that creaked under Ross’s weight, then he dipped down to fit under a nailed board across a collapsing door frame and stepped into a dark vestibule. Dead vines had overtaken the crumbling plaster walls. Spiderwebs hung thick from the high ceiling.
When Ross stepped into the desolate little church, she found that very little outside light penetrated. Boards covered most of the windows, and grime coated those still unbroken. In one corner of the rectangular room, next to a toppled pulpit, a kerosene heater gave off welcoming warmth.
“Someone get a light. This place is crumbling.”
“Got it.” Terrance dug out a flashlight and turned it on. It flashed over every inch of the room in a disorienting light show. “Sorry, it’s still on strobe. Let me... There.” He adjusted it to a single beam that, when set atop a shelf, didn’t quite reach all corners of the room.
Ross carried her past several pews, most of them rotting, broken or overturned.
Someone had stacked blankets on a still intact pew near the heater. Sahara saw the coil of rope and wanted to scream. Her wrists were raw, her arms and shoulders still protesting every movement.
Ross set her on her feet, murmuring, “Careful,” when she wavered.
She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, determined to hide her weakness. “I’m fine.” She couldn’t do anything about her shivers.
He tipped up her chin. “Before you come up with some harebrained idea of making a run for it, you should know that many of the floorboards
are rotted. There are exposed nails everywhere, and several holes with jagged edges. Fall through and you drop all the way to a very dank, spooky basement. If you’re not shredded on the way down, you’re bound to break a leg when you land.”
Lovely. Either put up with their mistreatment or risk mangling herself.
Then again, perhaps she had a third option. She looked Ross right in the eye and said, “I won’t be tied again. It’s horribly uncomfortable and as you just pointed out, it’s not like I can run away.”
Andy crowded close, sneering, “You’re not calling the shots, lady, so stop your bellyaching and—”
Carelessly, without even looking at Andy, Ross straightened an arm and landed a fist to his face. Andy reeled back, landed against a kneeler, tripped and slammed awkwardly into a wall. Dust and cobwebs fell from the impact.
Ross stared at him, his expression demonic in the low, indirect light. “You’re on thin ice already. Shooting off your mouth won’t help.”
Tension swelled within the church, so thick Sahara wondered that no one choked on it. Olsen and Terrance shared a look. Andy wisely clamped his lips together.
To Sahara, Ross said, “Andy’s right. You’re not calling the shots, but I see no reason to tie you. I also see no reason to keep you wet and shivering.” He turned to Olsen. “You and Terrance stand by the front door. Andy, you stand by the hall exit.”
With only a few grumbles, the men moved to do as ordered.
“Strip out of your wet things,” Ross ordered, “and wrap up in a blanket.”
Her stomach bottomed out at the suggestion. “No, thank you.” Where were her men? Now would be a good time for them to catch up.
“You’ll do it,” Ross said, “or I’ll do it for you.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Andy grin, placated by Ross’s implied brutality.
Suddenly Ross leaned close and grabbed the lapels of her coat, hauling her up to her tiptoes. Putting his face close to hers, he growled, “Do. You. Understand?” Then, more softly, he breathed, “Trust me or neither of us will make it out of here.”
Her eyes widened. So this was part of an act, a way to dupe his men so he could help her? He’d moved his goons a fair distance away to ensure a modicum of privacy.
Taking advantage of that, Sahara murmured, “Allow me to play my part.” She swung her hand up and around, determined to slap him hard.
Unfortunately, Ross caught her wrist, his expression incredulous. “You little hellcat,” he breathed...almost with admiration.
Incensed that she hadn’t gotten in one good crack, Sahara tried to jerk free.
Ross easily subdued her, flipping her around so her back was to his chest, then locking her close with his bulky arms. She tried stomping his toes, but he wore boots and she was barefoot. Head-butting him was out since she only reached his chest.
Andy hooted. Terrance snickered.
Quietly, Olsen said, “You already know you can’t trust her, so stop dicking around.”
Over her head, Ross asked, “Is he right, Sahara? Should I go ahead and strip you now? Or do you think you can behave?”
“That depends.” Steamy heat rose from his body, alleviating some of her chill. “Will I get to undress in private?”
“In this room,” he told her, “with everyone’s gaze averted. That’s as private as it’s going to get.”
“Then I’d just as soon keep my wet clothes.”
He sighed. “Difficult to the bitter end.” In the next instant, he stripped off her coat despite her squawking struggles, then his big paw settled on her shoulder, gently groping. His gaze landed on her breasts. “I suppose your sweater is dry enough. The skirt has to go, though.” He reached for the side zipper.
Sahara slapped his hand, saying, “I’ll do it!”
For a heartbeat or two, they stared at each other, her defiant, him amused.
“Spoilsport.” He shook out a blanket, then held it up in front of her, stretched wide between the breadth of his long arms. “Good enough?”
Fuming, she gritted out, “Look away.”
He laughed softly...and turned his head.
Unwilling to push her luck any further, Sahara unzipped and shimmied out of the sodden skirt. After being dragged through the river to the boat, everything from her waist down was drenched, including her panties, but no way would she remove them.
She dropped the skirt over the back of the pew, then took the blanket from Ross and wrapped it around herself toga-style, pulling one end to drape over her shoulder. Sitting in the corner of the pew closest to the kerosene heater, she tucked her feet up under the blanket.
That little skirmish had helped her to forget, for just a few minutes, the sight of her brother falling into the mud after the gunshot. She squeezed her eyes shut and put her head in her hands.
“Sahara.”
She jerked her head up to glare at Ross.
He gave her a stern look that gradually turned into rage.
She didn’t know what to think when he clasped her chin and lifted her face, turning it toward the dim light, his gaze searching. “How did you bruise your face?”
“I got in the way of your friend’s fist.”
He straightened with a slow menace that had Olsen saying, “She tried to shoot me! It was the easiest way to disarm her.”
Sahara snapped, “You’d just shot my brother! Of course I wanted to shoot you. In fact, I still do.”
Olsen huffed. “You see? She’s nuts.”
Fury got her off the bench. Her bare feet on the dirty floor sent a chill climbing straight through to her heart. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, Olsen. You’re the sexist pig who feels superior to women.”
Olsen reared back. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“When you helped kidnap me the first time, I remember everything you said. I knew right then you were an insecure, ignorant—”
“That’s enough.” Ross forcibly pressed her back in her seat with a withering look that clearly said cease and desist.
“He started it.”
“For the love of... Stay put.” Assuming she’d obey, he turned away and said to the men, “Anyone else touch her, for any reason, and he’ll be dealing with me. Are we clear?”
After a collective bobbing of heads in the affirmative, Ross wanted explanations of what had gone down.
Sahara could hear them explaining the chaos of the evening, how they’d intended to take Scott.
Ross clearly wasn’t happy, especially since, according to what he said, her brother really had paid the money owed. Somehow, he’d gotten into Ross’s apartment and left it there for him to find.
“Why didn’t you tell us you got the money?” Andy asked.
“I wasn’t sure if it was a trap. I didn’t want to drag you all into it until I was sure no one had followed me.”
Olsen nodded. “I remember you told us to watch our backs.”
“I’d just gotten the text telling me the money was at my place. Even after I got home and found it, I kept wondering if Scott had men ready to close in on me—or on all of you, if I gave you away.”
“You wouldn’t,” Terrance said with conviction.
“Of course not, but a lot of good it did me trying to look out for you. Seems we might all be sunk anyway.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“We found one guy hiding in the bushes, watching. I clubbed him in the back of the head.”
Brand! For an instant, pure terror gripped her. Then she remembered Brand calling her name, racing toward the boat.
Her pulse calmed as she realized he was okay. Injured, probably, but like her, he would recover.
Andy said, “It should have been easy, but instead of raising his hands, Scott lunged toward me. I wasn’t expecting that. I just...reacted.”
“He’s dead?”
/>
With a shrug in his voice, Andy said, “Turned out she had a small army with her. We heard them charging in, so I didn’t stick around to take his pulse. He sure dropped like a dead man.”
In an effort to keep her heart from shattering, Sahara concentrated on listening. Once her men rescued her, she wanted to be able to give a detailed accounting to the police. Assuming any of goons survived, the very least they deserved was a long time in prison.
“How did you know he’d be there?”
Sahara was curious about that, too. She hoped they’d keep talking, the longer the better, so her backup could arrive.
Olsen said, “I was staking out the agency, seeing if we’d have a chance to grab her since they missed her on the road.”
Ross straightened. “What do you mean?”
“Terrance and Andy. They tried to take her during a trip south. She had that same bodyguard with her and he decided to shoot it out with them instead.”
Ross glanced toward Sahara. “I didn’t know anything about that.”
She stared back without reacting. Far as she was concerned, he’d started the scheme to get her, and that made him guiltiest of all.
As if unaware of the undercurrent, Olsen continued. “I didn’t see her coming or going again. I guess they were being extra cautious after that. But I noticed a dude hanging around—”
“And it turned out to be Scott?” Ross guessed.
Olsen nodded. “He tried to conceal himself, wore a hat and sunglasses and loose jacket...but that’s what drew my attention to him, you know? And then there was no mistaking him once I did look closer.”
Sahara remembered Brand making note of a man outside the agency. She supposed Scott had been trying to look out for her, or maybe he just wanted to make sure she was getting along okay after his “death.” If only he had trusted her...
“When I followed him to the river, I figured he was meeting someone, I just didn’t expect it to be her.”
Ross stared heavenward.
She seriously doubted any divine spirits were still hanging around.
“He’d been a sneaky bastard, hard as hell to find, so once I spotted him I wasn’t about to let him get away again. He was extra cautious, but I remembered everything you taught us about tailing him, staying back and not doing anything to give myself away.”
