Teasing Annie: The Temptation Saga: Book Two

by Hardt, Helen;

  “Oh God, Dallas.”

  “What? Tell me!”

  “Her ex-husband. He was in prison for what he did to her, but he was released a few days ago. On parole.”

  His heart thumped. “Fuck. Anything else?”

  “Just that you’d better find her. And fast. I’ll call Zach and Chad. You call Doug. We need the authorities on this.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” Dallas raked his hands through his hair, his nerves tightening. Knots turned and twisted in his stomach. Damn, he was going to be ill. He swallowed and willed away the nausea. Annie. Concentrate on Annie.

  Once he had called Doug, he went into Annie’s bedroom. She had unpacked several more boxes since he had been there last. Particularly interesting was her veterinary doctorate. Annalisa DeSimone Riggs.

  Her married name.

  He shot back into the living room and picked up her cell phone. Not much battery left, but enough to check her contacts. Ma and Pop. Lillian. Macy. Drew. None of the names rang a bell. She had friends he didn’t even know about. He barely knew the woman he loved. But he’d get to know her. He’d get her back and learn everything about her, and accept and love every single detail, no matter what it was.

  He continued flipping through the list. Riggs. There it was. No first name. Could it really be that easy? He dialed the number. It rang several times before clicking into voice mail. “This is Riggs. You know what do.”

  Dallas clicked off the phone and dialed the number again.

  “Yeah?” An exasperated low voice growled.

  “Riggs.”

  “Yeah? What is it?”

  “I need to speak to Annie.”

  A pause. Then, “Who the fuck is this?”

  “Is she okay?”

  “You tell me who the fuck you are, asshole.”

  “A friend of hers. Please. I need to know if she’s all right.”

  “What makes you think I have her?”

  “Give me a little credit. You don’t want to go back to prison, do you?”

  “This conversation is over, pal.”

  “No! Please, don’t hang up. I… I have money. I’ll give you whatever you want. Plane tickets. A car. Whatever. Just please don’t hurt her.”

  “You must think I’m some kind of moron. How do I know you’re on the level?”

  “You don’t. But the cops are after you. They’ll find you eventually. I don’t care about finding you. All I care about is Annie. Please.”

  “I need a hundred thou. Cash. And a new car. Untraceable. Can you handle that?”

  “Not until I know Annie’s safe.”

  “She’s fine. She’s in the backseat of my car. Out cold.”

  Dallas’s gut clenched. The son of a bitch had hurt her. This was not going to end well for him. He took a deep breath. He had to keep his cool for her. “I want to talk to her.”

  “I told you, she’s out cold.”

  “Pull over and wake her up. Until you can prove you have her and she’s okay, you get nothing from me.”

  “Christ. Fine. Give me a few minutes.”

  Dallas’s heart raced, and he prayed the line would hold. God only knew where Riggs and Annie were. They could drive out of cell phone range at any time.

  After several minutes of agony, Dallas finally heard her voice. “Hello?”

  It was her. He’d know that sweet husky Jersey accent anywhere. His heart leaped. “Annie. Oh God, Annie. It’s me. Dallas. I love you. I love you, Doc. Are you all right?”

  “Touching,” Riggs said. “But she didn’t hear any of it. I took the phone from her as soon as she said hello.”

  “You fucking son of a bitch!”

  “Don’t get testy with me, boy. I have something you want, obviously. Who’d have thought the little bitch would rope another sucker into loving her?” Riggs laughed eerily. “I see she’s worth much more than I imagined. But I’m not one to be greedy. I believe the price was a hundred K and a car.”

  “Done. Where can I pick up Annie?”

  “I’ve done time, friend. I’m not stupid. You bring the car and the cash to me. Make sure the tank is full.”

  “Fine. Name the place. You’re holding all the cards here, Riggs. All I want is Annie. But”—he forced the next words out between clenched teeth—“if you so much as touch another hair on her head, the deal is off.”

  “Don’t worry. She’ll be good as new within a day or two. She always had spirit, that one. Bounced right back. Never could break her. The bitch.”

  The anger jolted into Dallas like red heat. How dare he talk about Annie like that? Damn it, Dallas. Stay focused. “Just give me the drop off point, Riggs. I’ll bring the car and the cash.”

  “I’m on Highway thirty-seven. Just crossed the New Mexico border. There’s a town called Foghorn a few miles away. I’ll stop there. You call this number when you get there. And friend?”

  I’m not your friend, asshole. “What?”

  “You call the cops, and the deal’s off.”

  “Understood.” Dallas flipped the phone shut. He wished he hadn’t called Doug. Should he stay here and wait for the sheriff to arrive, or should he leave for Foghorn?

  Leave for Foghorn. He’d get to Annie. The cops would just spook Riggs.

  Annie. God, Annie. How he loved her.

  When he and Jet were in the car, he gunned the engine and headed back toward his home. He ran into the house and into his study, quickly opening the safe on the wall behind the portrait of his parents. He counted out $100,000 in bills, placed them in a briefcase, and grabbed something else out of his safe.

  His sharpshooter pistol. He called it Jake.

  Dallas McCray was a champion marksman, and he had no intention of letting Riggs get away.

  * * *

  Had she talked to someone on the phone? Annie twisted through the haze in her mind, trying to make sense of what had happened. Riggs had held the phone to her ear. Just as quickly, it was gone. She had said hello. Hadn’t she?

  Didn’t matter anyway. Riggs had replaced her gag, and now she lay across the backseat of the car, jostling uncomfortably with each bump in what must be a dirt road.

  How? How had it come to this?

  Logan Riggs had been a kind man once. A handsome, kind man who had swept Annie off her feet.

  She opened one eye and then the other. As the cloudiness subsided, the blur that was Riggs faded slowly into focus. Odd. Same tawny hair and light brown eyes. Same long nose and full mouth. Same neck corded with muscle. He was still handsome. Nearly as handsome as when he had first swept her off her feet nine years before, during her first year of vet school. He had dreams then. Or so he had said. Dreams of making it big in the casino industry. He had worked his way up into mid-level management of one of the biggest hotel and casino companies in Atlantic City. Annie had married him the summer before her last year of vet school, and they had been happy for a little while.

  But then the gambling.

  And after that, the drinking.

  The gambling debts made him angry, unnerved, and the drink took that angry nervousness and turned it into violence. Violence directed toward her.

  At first it was only the occasional slap. Then the tearful apology. When she suffered a miscarriage, he blamed her. After her D and C, her stomach cramping from the procedure, he had punched her in the gut. The next day she called her doctor and went back on the pill.

  A rational decision. Of course, the better decision would have been to leave Riggs. Over and over she had berated herself for letting it go on as long as it had. She had fallen out of love with him. He had hurt her. He had stolen from her. Yet still she had stayed. For more abuse. Things would get better, he told her. I love you, he told her. I’m so sorry. Over and over again. He was sorry.

  Annie closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as hard as she could, trying to block out the memories that came blazing back from the deep recesses of her mind.

  Like a curtain parting, revealing the final act of a play.

&nbs
p; * * *

  On the third anniversary of her marriage to Logan Riggs, Annie sat on her couch with a mug of chamomile tea, looking through her wedding album. Riggs had been happy that day. His eyes shone with dedication, with love. He had cut his unruly tawny hair at Annie’s mother’s request. It lay cropped above his ears, his small diamond ear stud visible even in the smaller pictures. Annie had loved the diamond stud. Clad in a basic black tuxedo, he looked as though he had stepped out of the pages of GQ Magazine.

  Annie wore an ivory sheath. Her mother had warned her against white. It would make Annie’s pale skin look washed out, Sylvia had said. So ivory it was, with a beaded sweetheart neckline and a slim skirt that accentuated Annie’s curves. Her long dark hair was swept off her neck into an elaborate cascade of curls falling down her bare back. Riggs had caressed her back during their first dance as man and wife, his fingers as gentle as a dove’s wings feathering across her white skin. During their photography session at the reception, when he stood behind her, he had moved her hair to the side and brushed his lips over her neck and shoulders.

  Yes, he had loved her. Part of her believed he still did. He said it often enough. Yet, if he truly loved her, why did he let himself lose control? He hadn’t hurt her badly. Never any real damage. But why?

  The timer on the oven snapped her out of her wedding daydream. Her Osso Bucco. An anniversary treat for Riggs. For the last several weeks, he had been calm and devoted. Calling when he would be late. Treading softly when he came in so he wouldn’t wake her. Thanking her for her work around the house. Asking about the animals she treated. An effort. He was making an effort.

  She would reward him with a gourmet Italian feast. Osso Bucco. Risotto Calabrese. Focaccia with three cheeses. Artichoke and fennel salad. And for dessert, her mother’s creamy cannolis. She smiled, thinking about the cannolis. Riggs had never once asked her to make Tiramisu. She loved him for that.

  The robust aroma of garlic and veal wafted out of the oven as Annie set the meat on a trivet and covered it with foil to rest. She turned on the burner under the pan of risotto and went to work on her salad. She was slicing a bulb of fennel when she heard the garage door open. She smiled. Riggs might not be the perfect husband, but he did love her cooking. Although he had voiced his share of complaints during their short marriage, he had never once criticized any of her meals.

  He entered the kitchen from the garage, and Annie, still smiling, looked up at him.

  Uh-oh. Something had gone wrong. His pursed lips formed a line below his nose, and his ears were red.

  When Riggs was angry, his ears always turned red.

  Annie put down the fennel and wiped her hand. “Happy anniversary,” she said and held out her arms.

  “What’s so fucking happy about it? Two years of being saddled with you?”

  Annie breathed deeply, trying not to let his words hurt her. “Three years, actually.”

  “God. It’s been three? I’m a glutton for punishment. What’s that awful smell?”

  “What smell?”

  “Veal. It’s veal. Christ, I hate veal.”

  “You don’t hate veal. I just made veal piccata last week and you ate two help—”

  Slap. Right across the face. A few minutes of numbness, and then stinging pain. Annie didn’t fall.

  “Jesus, Riggs. It’s our anniversary.” She willed herself not to cry, but her eyes misted anyway.

  “If say I hate veal, I hate veal, you stupid tramp.”

  “But I made a special dinner for our anniversary. Osso Bucco. It’s my mother’s recipe.”

  “Why would I want to eat anything your bitch mother serves, huh?” He slammed his fist onto the counter.

  Annie backed away. “What happened today? Why are you so upset?”

  “Like you care.”

  “Of course I care. I’m your wife.”

  “True.” He looked at her lasciviously. “I think I’ll take some conjugal rights. Now.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his body, knocking the wind out of her lungs. He slammed his mouth onto her and bit her, drawing blood.

  She pushed at him, but he was too strong. “Riggs,” she said, when he lifted his head to breathe. “Not like this. Please. Let’s have our celebration dinner. We can…talk. You can tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”

  “Talk? Talk? I want to fuck.” He pushed her to the floor. “But I can’t fuck with this disgusting smell in here!” He grabbed the glass pan of Osso Busco from the counter. “It’s hot, goddamnit!” He threw the pan at Annie’s face.

  “Auugghhh!” she cried. The heavy hardness of the glass knocked into her forehead and fell to her chest, and the hot meat seared her eyelids and cheeks.

  Scarred. Her face would be scarred. She had never been vain, but the thought of losing her beauty at her husband’s hand was too much to bear. The heat of anger flowed into her veins. She grabbed the glass pan, as yet unbroken, and stood up, her head woozy. She rushed at him, forced her arms from her body with as much energy as she could muster, and hit Riggs on the head with the glass pan.

  It shattered, knocking him back a few steps. A red trickle of blood oozed down his cheek where a shard of glass cut him.

  “Bitch,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “You won’t get away with that.” He grabbed her long hair, forced her to the kitchen floor, and rubbed her face in the ruined Osso Bucco. “Why don’t you eat the rancid meat, you whore! Eat it, while I fuck you until you can’t move!”

  Annie struggled to breathe, congealed meat juices forcing their way into her nose. She snorted and coughed as he continued to smear her face into the greasy mess.

  “Bitch. Stupid fucking bitch. Clean up this fucking mess!”

  He thunked her head into the floor. She must have blacked out for a few seconds, because the next thing she knew he was on his feet, kicking her in the side.

  She screamed and curled into a fetal position to escape his pelting blows. While her body took the abuse, she reached across the floor looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon. She found the leg of the kitchen table and grabbed onto it. She tried to get a footing to pull herself up, but the floor was slimy from the Osso Bucco.

  Her Osso Bucco. Her masterpiece. Her anniversary treat for her husband.

  Her husband who was beating her senseless.

  The dull aches turned into sharp pain as Riggs continued to kick her. He yelled, but she no longer understood the words. A searing pain shot from her right elbow up to her shoulder, ending in a torturous agony so intense she blacked out again. Several seconds later she awakened. Riggs had stopped kicking her and was forcing her skirt around her waist. He ripped off her panties. Her left hand still gripped the table leg, so she willed her right hand to reach for something. Anything.

  But it wouldn’t move. The acute pain throbbed. She couldn’t move her arm. Damn, she couldn’t move her arm!

  Although the table leg served no purpose, she held onto it as a sort of buoy. For some odd reason that she couldn’t rationalize, the thought of letting go tormented her. But she had to. Her other arm wasn’t working. Bracing herself, she uncurled her fingers from around the wooden pole and began groping for a makeshift weapon.

  Nothing. There was nothing.

  She writhed, engulfed in heated pain but determined to get away. The breeze from the ceiling fan flowed over her bare buttocks. Then clammy hands, Riggs’s firm pinching hold.

  “Spread your legs, bitch.” He wrenched her thighs apart and plastered himself between them. The slow unzipping of his fly went straight to her stomach. She threw up.

  “So I make you sick, do I? Well, you make me just as sick. More so, even. I can’t stand the sight of you.”

  “Then why do you want to fuck me?” she croaked out. “If you can’t stand—”

  “Shut up!” He kneed her between the legs.

  Her mind had gone numb. That was the only reason for her next reaction. She laughed. She erupted in gales of giggles. “You’re so stupid, Riggs,�
�� she said, her voice a cracking whisper. “That doesn’t work on girls.”

  “Don’t you ever fucking call me stupid!” He thrust his fingers into her with such force her head propelled forward and slammed into the table leg that had been her anchor. She groaned as tiny sparks of light danced in her eyes.

  “How do you like that, bitch?” Riggs continued to violate her with his hands. “Nice, huh?”

  His fingers stretched her dry sex, shooting pain into her chest. God, let him just get it over with, she pleaded to herself. I tried. I tried to get away. I’ve done all I can. Just let it be over.

  He removed his fingers and thrust into her with his hard cock. She heaved again, but threw up only yellow stomach acid. With each thrust, her head slammed into the table leg until she finally lost consciousness.

  The blackness was a welcome relief.

  * * *

  When she awoke later, she’d had no idea how much time had passed. For a few moments she’d had the sensation of being outside her body, suspended against the ceiling. Then she had slammed back into her body with full force, and the torturous suffering began. Her right arm lay limply on the floor. It throbbed, and she still couldn’t move it. Wetness trickled out of her private parts and she gagged, remembering the rape. Her cheeks and eyes still stung from the burns, and her body ached all over from the kicking.

  She had crawled, with only one arm, to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  Then she had gone to the hospital, and Riggs had gone to prison.

  The meat hadn’t been hot enough to do any lasting damage, despite the fact it had felt like hot coals raking her face at the time. But her right shoulder had been dislocated, and her left kidney had been bruised. The doctors had been amazed that no bones were broken. Still more skin than not was black–and-blue.

  Two weeks later, she had been released.

  She had rebuilt her life over the next two years. She took self-defense classes. Got counseling. Scrimped and saved. Then her aunt had died, leaving her a small inheritance. With money in the bank, she made her move. A small rural town in south eastern Colorado was looking for a vet.