by Gina Wilkins
“Forget it.” Gabe’s voice was flat. His eyes bored into her, daring her to argue.
“It wouldn’t help, Page.” Blake agreed with Gabe. “Even if you were willing to spend the rest of your life running from him—and that’s not something Gabe and I can accept—it wouldn’t guarantee anyone’s safety, including your own. The guy’s crazy. He hates Gabe and he hates me, just because we’re on your side.”
Gratitude and fear warred equally inside her. “But—”
“It’s not an option, Page,” Gabe insisted. “You aren’t leaving again, not if I have to handcuff you to my own wrist. Is that clear?”
“I make my own decisions,” she snapped, irked by his uncompromising tone.
“Not when they’re made on my behalf,” he retorted, his jaw stubbornly set.
Their eyes locked. Held. Page could almost feel the sparks fly between them as stubborn willfulness clashed with inflexible determination.
“Soupspoons at twenty paces?” Blake asked whimsically, breaking the tension. “Loser has to eat the rest of this delightful swill.”
Gabe cleared his throat and dipped unenthusiastically into his soup. Page bit her lower lip and turned her attention to the rest of her own unappetizing meal.
For a moment a taut silence reigned in the rustic cabin kitchen.
Again it was Blake who lightened the mood. “So,” he said. “Since there’s nothing else we can do about finding Wingate for the moment, why don’t we get to know each other better. If you were a Pop-Tart, what flavor would you be?”
She was startled into a quick laugh. “That’s a stupid question.”
“Yeah, but you have to admit it’s original,” he quipped.
Blake was smiling, looking perfectly at ease, but Page saw the lines of pain still etched around his eyes and mouth, and the sallow cast beneath his lightly tanned skin. She knew what he was doing, and she was grateful that he wanted to take her mind off the danger for a little while. He must know how long it had been since she’d sat around a kitchen table and exchanged frivolous small talk. Maybe he even understood how much it meant to her to be able to do so now, if only for a few stolen moments.
Gabe’s hand fell suddenly on her thigh beneath the table. He squeezed lightly, in what might have been an apology.
“I know what flavor she’d be,” he said, obviously forcing a smile. “Strawberry. Page has a major passion for the taste and scent of strawberries.”
Blake wiggled an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Gabe turned a fierce, exaggerated scowl toward the other man. “No one is arousing my wife’s passions except me,” he growled, his hand still resting on her thigh.
Blake gulped loudly and held up his hand in surrender. “I hear ya’, boss.”
Page’s smile felt strained. Even through the fabric of her jeans, she could feel the warmth of Gabe’s hand, and she couldn’t help but react.
She’d once accused Gabe of being rather primitive when it came to his views on marriage. She’d found his “me-Tarzan, you-Jane” tendencies both daunting and endearing, but he had promised her he would never treat her as anything but an equal partner in their marriage.
She was beginning to understand now that possessiveness and protectiveness were as much a part of her husband’s nature as the passions that sometimes overwhelmed her.
He regarded himself as her protector, which was making it very difficult for him to accept that she’d viewed him as the one to be protected. She should have realized he would react that way. But didn’t he understand that she had the same primal, instinctive need to defend the man she loved?
IT WAS GETTING DARK outside. Blake had put in a call to the Springfield police, who, after asking more questions, had admitted they had no leads on his van.
He was asked again to come to the station; he stalled by claiming he needed to rest and recover from his injuries. He promised to go in the next morning. The officer wasn’t pleased, but Blake used his considerable charm to end the call on a conciliatory note.
“For all we know, the punk is watching the police station now,” Blake explained to Page and Gabe after disconnecting the call. “That’s what I would be doing in his shoes if I didn’t know where else to look.”
“We could set up a trap of some sort. Have the police waiting nearby,” Gabe murmured, his forehead creased with thought.
Page knew Gabe felt unprepared to deal with this ugly situation. The skills he’d developed running his construction company hardly seemed applicable now. And yet, oddly enough, she felt confident that Gabe could handle whatever he encountered during the next hours.
She had finally learned not to underestimate the man she loved.
“That’s an option,” Blake acknowledged. “But since we don’t know where Wingate is—or, for that matter, if it is Phillip Wingate who’s after us—we have to be careful about how we approach the police.”
“So what are we going to do?” Page asked, rubbing her hands over her forearms against a sudden chill in the cabin’s tiny living room. “We can’t hide here forever.”
“We don’t intend to,” Gabe assured her. “Blake and I are going to make some plans.”
“You aren’t leaving me out,” she protested.
“Of course not,” he assured her quickly. A bit sheepishly. “You’ll plan with us, of course.”
“Nice recovery,” Blake murmured with a slight smile.
Page glared at both of them.
Gabe shook his head and held up a hand. “Let’s call a truce,” he said. “We’re in this as a team. We have to work together, not argue among ourselves. Agreed?”
After a moment Page sighed and said, “Agreed.”
Gabe gave her a smile of approval. She had to look away to keep him from seeing her very feminine reaction to that quick flash of teeth and dimple.
Blake propped his feet on the coffee table and leaned his head against the back of the couch. Page could tell he’d used nearly all his reserves of stamina. He needed rest. He rubbed his head, as if it throbbed. Looking at the nasty bruise beneath the bandage she’d applied, Page was sure that he had a pounding headache.
“Blake, won’t you at least take an aspirin?” she asked. “I have some in my purse. The pain pills would help you more, but an aspirin will give you some relief without making you groggy.”
He gave her a faint smile. “Thanks, but I’m allergic to aspirin. I’ll be okay.”
“I have acetaminophen capsules in the glove compartment of my truck,” Gabe volunteered, looking at Blake in a way that told Page he shared her concern.
“I’ll get them,” Page volunteered, jumping to her feet, eager to help. “Gabe, why don’t you pour him a glass of water?”
She realized that both men had tensed as she moved toward the door, their expressions doubtful. It took her only a heartbeat to figure out why they’d gone so still.
She scowled, and faced them both with her fists on her hips. “I’m not going anywhere except to the truck for the pills,” she snapped. “I wasn’t planning an escape.”
Gabe seemed to relax. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But with your track record so far...”
“Better shut up while you’re ahead, Gabe,” Blake advised with characteristic humor.
Looking straight at Gabe, Page held her chin up proudly and said, “I’m trusting you to help me, Gabe. Now you have to trust me.”
Gabe grimaced and reached into the front pocket of his jeans. “You’ll need these,” he said, holding up the keys to his truck.
He tossed them to her. She caught them deftly in her right hand. She allowed her lips to curve into a slight smile of gratitude before she turned and walked outside without another word, feeling as though they’d just taken a very big step in their complex relationship.
There were no lights outside the secluded little fishing cabin. Long shadows fell across the small, cleared lot The newly risen moon provided barely enough illumination to lead Page from the tiny front porch to Gabe�
�s truck, which was parked in the gravel driveway.
The night was cool, with a hint of rain in the breeze that came off the lake. Page shivered and hurried to the truck, anxious to be safely back inside with Gabe and Blake.
She had just put the key into the door lock when something cold and hard pressed against her temple.
“You people are really stupid,” a voice she’d heard in too many nightmares murmured from close behind her. “Sometimes I wonder why I’ve wasted so much time with you.”
She opened her mouth instinctively to scream. He slapped a grimy hand over the lower half of her face.
“Scream and I take down the first man who comes out the door,” he warned. His strong arms pinned her to him, and the gun in his right hand gleamed softly in the pale moonlight.
Her heart seemed to stop. “No. Please,” she begged, her voice muffled by his hand. “Don’t hurt them.”
He pushed her toward the truck. “Get in. We’re going for a ride. You’re driving.”
She resisted for a moment, but his fingers bit into her arm. “You’ve got a choice, Page,” he snarled, motioning with the gun. “Get in the truck or I shoot you on the spot. And then I’m going after them.”
Her eyes flooding with tears, she surrendered. She had no doubt that he would do just as he threatened. And she simply couldn’t allow it.
She slid into the open door of the truck.
I’m sorry, Gabe. Please forgive me. And stay safe.
11
GABE FILLED a plastic tumbler with cold water from the tap, berating himself for letting Page see his momentary doubt when she’d offered to go out for the pills. He’d been the one who’d insisted they had to start acting as a team. He couldn’t blame her for being annoyed with him for behaving as though he were afraid to let her out of his sight.
She trusted him. He found that knowledge encouraging. Maybe by the time this was over, he could become as convinced that she loved him.
He turned the water off just as Blake yelled from the other room. “Gabe!”
Gabe dropped the tumbler and ran. Blake was standing in the open doorway of the cabin, glaring outside with an expression of shock and fury.
Gabe skidded to a halt, staring in disbelief at the taillights of his truck as they disappeared down the gravel road and became obscured by trees. “She didn’t—”
Blake slammed his fist against the open door. “She took off. Damn it, she’s gotten away from us again!”
Gabe shook his head, remembering the expression on Page’s face when she’d promised not to run. She’d looked so hurt at their doubt, so sincere in her reassurances. “I can’t believe she ran out on us.”
“Believe it,” Blake said irritably. “I heard the truck start, and by the time I got to the door, she was already halfway down the driveway. I would have bet anything that we’d convinced her not to do this. We were stupid to trust her.”
Something was wrong. Gabe felt it all the way to his toes. And he couldn’t believe that Page had decided to try again to handle her problems on her own. Not after she’d looked at him the way she had and promised he could trust her. “We’ve got to go after her.”
“In what?” Blake snapped. “She’s got the truck. Wingate’s got my van. We’re stranded here.”
That ominous feeling was growing stronger by the moment. “Then we have to call someone. The cops. Anyone. Damn it, we have to stop her.”
As though he suddenly shared Gabe’s cold premonition, Blake calmed down and looked at Gabe with a frown. “What are you thinking?”
“She hasn’t run again, Blake. She wouldn’t leave us stranded here without a clue as to where she’s gone.”
“It certainly looks that way,” Blake said slowly.
Gabe nodded tightly. “I know what it looks like. But it’s not true.”
He simply wouldn’t accept it.
“So—what? You think she’s headed for the nearest grocery? The closest pharmacy?”
“Not without telling us.” Gabe was already reaching for his cellular phone.
“We have to find her,” he muttered, more to himself than to Blake, snatching the instrument off the coffee table where he’d left it. “She needs—”
The phone rang in his hand.
Looking at Blake, Gabe held it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Do not call the cops. Not if you want to see her alive again.”
The curt command was given in a voice that was unfamiliar to Gabe. But he would bet Page knew it all too well.
“Where is she? What have you done with her?” he demanded, his grip white-knuckled on the phone.
“You want her? Come and get her,” the voice taunted.
Gabe had gone cold, right through to his bones. “If you lay a hand on her, I’ll kill you, you bastard.”
“You are persistent, aren’t you? Haven’t you figured out yet that she isn’t worth your loyalty? All the time and money you’ve spent looking for her since she ran out on you—what a fool you are,” the voice marveled. “She’s a home-wrecking, two-bit tramp and you’re just another besotted idiot who’s fallen under her spell What do you all see in her?”
The man sounded genuinely perplexed when he added, “How many more stupid men are going to have to die for her before I do the world a favor and get rid of her, hmm?”
“Don’t hurt her.” Gabe wasn’t quite begging—but he knew he would, if he thought it would make a difference.
“You just don’t understand, do you, man? She doesn’t get hurt. It’s the people who get near her who suffer. Are you still willing to take that risk? Or do you want to forget about her right now and go back to Texas? That’s what I would do if I were you. I’d consider myself well rid of her.”
Terror sharpened Gabe’s tone. “I want her back. And I’m not going to rest until I have her. And if you hurt her, I won’t rest until I’ve gotten to you. Is that clear?”
His threat was met with a gruff chuckle. “Okay, fine. If that’s your decision, then come after her. I’ll even tell you where she’ll be. Oh, and bring your detective friend along,” he added, all humor leaving his voice. “That’s an order, not a suggestion.”
Gabe shot a look at Blake, who hovered nearby, waiting impatiently to find out what was going on.
“You’ll find your buddy’s van a couple of hundred yards down the road from the cabin,” the caller said. “The keys are in it.”
He gave a few quick, curt directions to the rendezvous point, then warned, “And if you’re thinking of doing something really clever, like bringing the cops with you, don’t. They’d probably take me out, but not before I put a bullet in the bitch’s head. To be quite honest, I don’t care whether I survive this or not. You want to take the same chance with your wife?”
“I won’t bring the police,” Gabe said woodenly.
“Wise choice. You’ve got an hour, Conroy. If you take any longer than that, I’ll assume you got smart and wrote her off. And then I’ll make sure she never troubles you—or any other man—again.”
“Wait, I—”
But the caller had already disconnected.
Gabe lowered the phone and looked bleakly at Blake. “He’s got her.”
Blake was watching him intently, visibly poised for action. “What did he say?”
Gabe briefly summed up the call, including the directions of where they could supposedly find Page. “He gave us an hour. We’ll have to go in alone. If he sees any sign of police, he’ll kill her.”
“For all we know, he’s already killed her,” Blake said quietly.
Gabe’s jaw tightened. “No,” he said. “He wants her to witness whatever he plans to do to me.”
He could only hope his words were true. He refused to believe that there was nothing he could do to save Page.
“You know it’s a trap, Gabe. He has no intention of handing her over to you.”
“I know. But I have to go. You, of course, have no obligation to go with me.”
Blake ran a h
and through his hair, wincing when his fingers brushed the bandage on his bruised forehead. He then took a deep breath, shifted his wounded shoulder beneath his borrowed shirt and said, “Come on, Conroy. Let’s go get your wife.”
“WHAT ARE YOU going to do with me?” Page studied Phillip Wingate as she asked the question, trying to understand his bizarre behavior.
He was pacing the length of the dirty, badly abused motor home he’d brought her to, muttering beneath his breath, scratching at his straggly hair and beard. He seemed to be carrying on a muttered conversation with someone she couldn’t see, though she knew he was fully aware of her every movement as she huddled on a filthy built-in couch, watching him.
He looked at her with a scowl. “Shut up. I’m not in the mood for conversation.”
He should have been a nice-looking young man. In his early twenties, he was sandy-haired and blueeyed—as his father had been, Page remembered. But Phillip’s eyes glittered with a feverish intensity that didn’t require a psychiatric degree to diagnose.
He’d allowed his hair to grow long and shaggy, and it needed washing. His rather pathetic attempt at a beard was patchy and tangled. It didn’t hide the thick scar that marred one side of his face.
He walked with a limp. His shuffling gait made Page remember where she’d recently seen him—in the parking lot of the rundown shopping center where she and Gabe had found Blake.
Two teenagers had been smoking outside the comic book store, she remembered. A third young man had approached them as if to bum a cigarette, just as Page and Gabe had helped Blake to his feet and across the parking lot. It had been Phillip Wingate. And he’d approached the smoking pair from the direction of Gabe’s pickup.
Page and Gabe had been too concerned with Blake’s injuries to watch Gabe’s truck. Wingate had been keeping Blake under surveillance, knowing he would call for help. And when they’d arrived, he’d attached some sort of transmitter to Gabe’s truck, allowing him to locate the cabin. He’d told her that on the way here, after he’d made the call to Gabe. Wingate had seemed quite proud of his skills—in fact, he’d called himself “a genius.”
