Green-Eyed Monster

by Gill McKnight

  “You’re very tight all across here. Not surprising in the circumstances, I suppose, but I can loosen the muscles up nicely now that the water and steam have relaxed you a little.”

  “Do you do this for all your kidnap victims?” A little sigh escaped.

  She received a warm chuckle. “Oh yeah, some of them feel so pampered I have to chase them out the door.”

  “Oh, so you’re a serial kidnapper. What do you do? Work for the mob?”

  This was greeted with a derisive snort. “No way would I want to do this for a living. You’re hard enough work as it is.” More water rinsed her hair clean. Then a heavenly scented conditioner was applied and briskly worked into every hair from root to tip.

  “This stuff is great for your hair. It sure smells good, too.” Mickey seemed to be enjoying the experience.

  “You’re good at this. Are you a hairdresser, then? I mean when you’re not snatching people off the streets?” Best not waste the moment in idle luxury when more information could be wrung from this intimate and informal setting. She was already successfully breaking down Mickey’s sorry little boundaries.

  Another laugh echoed around the bathroom. “No. Just wanted you to feel a little fresher is all. You’ve got lovely hair.

  It’s an easy length to work with, I mean,” she finished a little awkwardly.

  So it was fair to say Mickey’s chosen line of work was a million miles away from the hair and beauty industry, despite a natural ability with her hands. Which, of course, was unimportant information and should be disregarded. Such a nice touch, though.

  A final rinse left her hair feeling refreshed and squeaky clean.

  Already, she felt like a million-dollar ransom. She congratulated herself on her own cliché. Behind her, she heard Mickey dry her hands on a towel, and to her surprise, move around in front of her, despite her blindfold being removed. She looked up to see a tall, dark blond, and very curvaceous Mickey Mouse. Blazing blues peeked out from the eyeholes in the plastic kid’s mask.

  “Well, Mickey, so we meet again,” she drawled. “The last time was at Cinderella’s Castle. I believe I was ten years old. I still have the photograph, and I fully intend to hand it over to the authorities once I’m free. You’ll be hunted down like the rat you are.”

  “Squeak,” came the response, accompanied with a mischievous flash from behind the plastic eyeholes.

  “So why the hell can’t you wear that all day and let me go without a freakin’ blindfold?” she demanded, annoyed at the obvious simplicity of her suggestion.

  “Because it’s too sweaty and my nose gets a heat rash. Now wash yourself with your free hand and call when you want out.

  There’s loads of hot water, so feel free to top up the bath.” Mickey turned and left, leaving the door open. Every inch of her long, denim-clad legs, her broad back gliding down to a trim waist, and her gorgeous curvy butt was ogled on the way out. Nice, very nice. In the police lineup, I’ll get to look at a long line of big, beautiful bottoms. She began to lather her shoulders, singing at the top of her lungs a cavalcade of popular Disney tunes.

  ❖

  A few yards up the hallway, Mickey sat hunched over her PC in the back bedroom-cum-office, groaning at the off-key refrain.

  Her captive was proving to be more of a handful than expected, at a time when she needed to concentrate on the complexities of her plan. This little lady’s orders just kept rolling in. Mickey was beginning to feel like a short-order chef.

  An hour later, the bath had been topped off four times. How long did it take to get clean? Even seals came out of the water to bask sometimes. Glowering at the screen, Mickey was unable to concentrate for more than five minutes at a time.

  “Mickeee, the knots you tie are trickeee.” Splash, splash, splash. The shameless butchering of Disney tunes had been going on forever, and now it seemed she was making her up own songs.

  I’m gonna drown her! I don’t care about the money, I’m gonna drown her. Flinching at a particularly jarring note, she frowned even deeper over her reading glasses. All the attention she had been struggling to give to a particularly complex financial maneuver shattered with a lusty call from the bathroom.

  “Mickeee, there’s no more hot water.”

  With a heavy sigh, Mickey rolled back her desk chair, dumped her glasses, and pulled the mask down over her face. On the way to the bathroom she picked up clean boxers and a T-shirt from the bedroom dresser. This is worse than having a toddler.

  She was crazy to think this would ever work.

  The song started up again. “Mickeee, Mickeee, Mic—” Mickey burst into the saturated bathroom and bellowed in sheer exasperation at a morning’s work totally lost. “If you don’t shut up, I’m leaving you in there till you’re a prune.” Silence ensued as her yell echoed off the tiled walls. Big green eyes looked up at her through a tufted fringe of snow blond hair. The naked little body with knees pulled up tight in the name of decorum glowed pink and wet.

  She’s adorable sitting there like a little water sprite. Shit!

  Where did that thought come from? She is not adorable. She’s a total pain in the ass.

  “Well, hello to you, too. Can I get out now please? The water’s getting cold.”

  Mickey set down the clean clothing and pulled the key from her pocket. She released the cuffs from the bath handle.

  “I’m gonna let you dress yourself. I’ll be in the hall with the door open, so don’t go getting any smart ideas, okay? The window is locked.”

  “Okay, perv,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Hey. I heard that. I’m not a perv.”

  “Yeah, lurking outside ladies’ bathrooms wearing a Mickey Mouse mask.” She imitated Mickey’s Midwest drawl perfectly.

  “Fersure you’re no perv.”

  ❖

  Lunch was another culinary success. Mickey was a serious cook, and her efforts were much appreciated by her captive audience.

  “Mmm, that pasta was the greatest.” She groaned, patting her little round belly with hands cuffed before her. Mickey was pleased her cooking was so enthusiastically enjoyed, but shook her head at the empty serving dishes. Usually a feast like this would have lasted her two, maybe three days. Her “guest” would eat her out of house and home in no time if something didn’t happen soon.

  “I’ve never seen anyone eat as much as you do for your size.

  You must have more stomachs than a cow.” Mickey rose to stack the dishes.

  Scraping the plates clean before stashing them in the sink, she watched the blindfold head tilt slightly to try to peek out from under the fabric.

  “In case you’re interested, I tied it special so you can’t see a thing.” Mickey knew she sounded smug but didn’t regret it. “So just sit still. Wouldn’t want you running away straight into a tree. Might dent it.” She chuckled.

  It was a lovely fall afternoon. Warm sunshine poured through the window, a light breeze and the sound of birdsong wafted in through the open door.

  “Hello there.” Out of the blue, a man’s voice called from outside.

  They both froze.

  Mickey guessed who it was, and at breakneck speed bolted across the floor. In one leap, she straddled her captive’s lap. She took her captive’s cuffed hands and thrust them up her sweatshirt out of sight. Mickey’s hands meshed in her soft blond hair, covering as much of the blindfold as possible.

  She had only one chance at this. She hoped the rental agency guy would head off when he saw she was “busy.”

  “What the—oh. Oh.” Her captive’s shocked cry was mumbled into her top. Mickey had to somehow stop her from crying out. With a swooping kiss, she covered the spluttering mouth, sealing off all sound. Tethered hands nudged against the sway of her breasts, a knuckle accidentally grazed her nipple. Her mouth hummed with the angry squawks pouring into it. Mickey did the only thing she could do, she went deep and French, to stopper the garbled squeaking.

  With relief, she watched the man’s
retreat. He would probably come back some other time to check that she was happy with the rental cabin. By then she hoped this nightmare would be over.

  So far, she’d been lucky. The blindfold and cuffs weren’t visible, and she’d moved fast enough to stop a holler for help. Even now, she could feel the indignant tongue quivering against her own in a series of squeaked cursing.

  It surprised Mickey how reluctant she was to break the seal, to pull away and release her hold on the pretty face. The muffled squawks continued, but Mickey found her own mouth acting independently of her. It began with sucking on soft lips, running her pliant tongue along the soft inner tissue. Gently, she nipped a lower lip, then stroked it with the tip of her tongue, falling deeper into a truly breathtaking kiss. The protestations beneath her mouth stilled for a surprised second.

  Mickey’s breasts were warm and flushed. They always did that. It was her embarrassing telltale. She was tantalizingly aware of the cool hands nestling between them. The flush scorched up her neck, heating her cheeks. It happened when she was turned on. Turned on? Yes, yes, I am. Very, very turned on.

  It amazed her that she should feel this way. How wrong it was. How wrong to feel attraction to her captive. Stockholm Syndrome, wasn’t it? But surely it was supposed to be the other way around, her captive fixating on her? Oh God, don’t tell me I can’t even get Stockholm Syndrome right.

  Her state of arousal honestly acknowledged, she was now acutely conscious of the potent little woman humming into her mouth like a very angry bee. After the initial shock, it seemed her captive had regained her righteous indignation and needed to vent. She reluctantly released the swollen lips, freeing the torrent of outrage she had so delightfully corked. And she knew she deserved every word of it. She had definitely taken advantage of the circumstances. Carefully, Mickey pushed the cuffed hands out from under her top and stood up, ready for incoming fire.

  “What the hell was that? How dare you. How dare you maul me. Get your hands off. I swear if you so much as touch—”

  “Get over it. It was necessary. I didn’t see him coming until the last second, or believe me, you’d have been gagged and back in that garage faster than a blink.”

  “Necessary, my ass. Why were my hands stuffed up your sweater, freako?”

  “To hide your cuffs, Einstein. I ain’t joking about that garage either. Want to go visit it for a few hours? It’s nice and cold.

  Might cool you off a little.” Why am I defending myself to Little Miss Razor Wire? I’m the damned kidnapper!

  “Don’t you threaten me, you…you groper.”

  “Hey. You’re the one who groped me, remember?”

  “I never did. You made me. You shoved—”

  “Enough.” Mickey threw a hand up to halt the onslaught before realizing that her blindfolded captive could not witness the grand gesture. “I’m putting you back in your room. I got work to do, and you can lie quietly for once and listen to that audio book I downloaded for you. And if I hear so much as one peep, I swear it’s a gag and the garage for you. Got it?” Mickey needed to sit down at her computer and get lost in the only world she understood and was master of. She had to completely remove herself from the madness this little madam always managed to promote in her, if only for one blessed hour of peace. Grabbing an arm, she bundled her fuming detainee back up the hall. Still very shaken after the close call, Mickey had to sit and think. She had to reformulate her kidnap plans. And whether she cared to admit it or not, process that unexpected kiss.

  Chapter Four

  Mickey had stomped off to do whatever it was she did in the back room, leaving her captive tethered to the bed to contemplate their bizarrely interrupted afternoon.

  Her skin flushed at the memory of the heated softness of Mickey’s breasts, her tied hands nestling in that silken valley. It had been an extremely pleasant, mind-numbing sensation. And along with that blazer of a kiss, totally corrupting. Enough to blow the only opportunity for rescue she was ever likely to get.

  It was aggravating beyond words that her logic had been so easily derailed by a kiss and a pair of boobs—all tossed out the window in one breathtaking moment.

  No, she couldn’t dwell on it anymore. She had to escape, free herself. It was too confusing and distracting, all these thoughts and feelings were rampaging through her like a hormone derby.

  Her hormones were obviously out of control. It had been months since she’d been sexual. She snorted to herself . And what a fiasco that had been. Lesbian bed death, rigor mortis, and private funeral had all passed through her bedroom at alarming speed. In lieu of flowers, please send donations to my vibrator fund.

  She groaned. She was horny. So did not need this. Not now, for God’s sake. Not here under these crazy conditions.

  ❖

  “Ginette? Can I ask you something?” The MP3 player was switched off and the weight of another body tilted the edge of the mattress.

  “Victoria Gresham, your girlfriend. She is around, isn’t she? I mean, she’s not off traveling or anything, is she?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you see…”

  “No, I don’t see. What do you mean?” Something was wrong.

  “I mean, well…”

  “What the fuck do you mean?”

  A short silence. The expletive seemed to jar Mickey before she continued.

  “She isn’t answering my e-mails. You two are getting along, aren’t you?”

  “Your e-mails?”

  “Yeah, I have her private e-mail address, and I’ve been sending my demands directly to her, but she’s ignoring me. Something ain’t right.” A deep, pained sigh followed. “How well were you two getting along before I kidnapped you?”

  “Wait. You’re sending e-mails as ransom demands? How the hell can you make sure they’re not traceable? What about your IP?”Mickey was clearly taken aback. “Hey, I’m in the business. I can cope. Nothing comes back on me that I don’t want.”

  “Oh, so you’re a geek? A hacker who sees her technical abilities as a right to operate outside the law of digitally challenged folks.”

  “I am not a hacker. I am a bona fide developer.” Mickey unintentionally gave up another clue as she defended herself.

  “What exactly do you mean, ‘her private e-mail’?” she continued relentlessly now that she had her abductor off balance.

  “Where exactly have you been sending these demands to?” An e-mail address was reeled off to her that made her heart turn cold. She knew no one would be picking up on that mailbox.

  It was private, all right; practically redundant, in fact. Used only for domestic purposes, never business, just shopping and vacation planning, and no one would be opening it soon . Shit, this crazy woman’s ransom demands are bouncing off into the ether. I could be tied up here until my eightieth birthday!

  “Well, try another one, for God’s sake. I can’t wait around all day for monies to be exchanged. I need to get out of here.” Panic crept into her voice, though she tried to quell it. On hearing it, a warm, reassuring hand reached out to rest just above her knee. The suddenness of the touch on her bare thigh below her boxers startled her, and her cuffs clanked against the bedrails.

  The hand instantly withdrew.

  “I did. I tried yours. I figured once she noticed you were gone, the first thing she’d do is check your mail.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yup. Ginette.Felstrom@Greshamcorps.com. Hey, you may think I’m a bumbler, but I’m pretty damned smart. Smart enough to have my intellectual copyright stolen by your girlfriend and her Gresham Corporation.”

  Oh, this sounds bad. Very bad. This whole kidnapping is a disaster. Perhaps I can convince her to let me go. Bribe her or something…get her sympathy…

  “Did she steal from you, Mickey?” She tried to sound sincere yet shocked.

  “Are you being sarcastic? She’s your girlfriend. Everyone knows she’s a premenstrual piranha. And yeah, she stole my idea. My code.” Mickey’s voice rose
with indignation. “This was the perfect plan. The perfect revenge and get even. Except nobody’s listening to me.” Her voice rang with self-righteousness. “It should’ve taken less than three hours, tops, and here we are, day two. Are you sure she’s not outta town or something? I mean, why isn’t she climbing the walls looking for you?”

  “Well, actually, we split up.”

  “What?” A stupefied bellow.

  “We split up. Separated. Broke up.” Her litany was almost gleeful as she sensed waves of panic rolling from Mickey’s body.

  “Ended our relationship. Went separate ways. Fell out of love. Had an emotional meltdown. Needed space. Took time out. Divor—”

  “What?” More like a stupefied squeak now. This news had obviously knocked Mickey clear out of the ballpark.

  “I’d love to see your face right now. I’m sure it’s a picture.”

  “It’s a fucking Van Gogh.”

  “Look, Mickey, why don’t you just let me go? You’re not a killer. You’re not even a very good kidnapper. Break even while you still can. Drive me into the wilds and dump me. Let me find my own way home. Like Lassie.”

  Her words where met with silence, though she could have sworn she heard the unlubricated cogs in Mickey’s brain rustily turning as she tried to come up with an alternative strategy. So the kidnapper had no contingency plans and was now confused.

  Holding back a smile, she put her considerable powers of persuasion to work. “Please, Mickey. No one is looking for me. They’ll all think I’ve dropped out to nurse a broken heart.” She paused for effect before croaking out, “No one misses me or cares enough to pay a ransom.” Damned blindfold. She could have squeezed out convincing tears, given half a chance.

  “Shit, I’ve got to think,” Mickey finally muttered. She rose and released the cuffs from the headboard, then locked them to the front, as was becoming her habit.