Stolen

by Carey Baldwin

  Not with a knife at her throat.

  Where, where, where had she heard that voice before?

  “What are you waiting for, Laura. Do exactly as you’re told, or I’ll end you.”

  That might be for the best.

  He was never going to let her go—not again.

  She looked around and saw the cabin walls, looked down and saw her naked body tied to a chair.

  So this was why her arms had been bound only to the elbows. It wasn’t an act of kindness so that she could cover herself with her hands. How absurd that she’d ever believed him capable of even a glimmer of humanity.

  He’d left her hands free so that she could do his bidding—so that she could write the note.

  He was making her complicit in his diabolical plan.

  “Kill me, please,” she managed to say. Her words sounded scratchy and weak.

  “Don’t worry. You’re going to die. The only question is whether you want it to be a peaceful death, or a slow, agonizing one.”

  She swallowed, tasting tears and salt and bitter medicine. Her tongue was thick and dry. Gripping the pen tighter, she began making slow marks. Tears fell on the paper blurring the ink.

  Her soul felt so very light, her body, so very heavy.

  “No.”

  No? She’d displeased him.

  She was trying, but she couldn’t remember what was happening.

  The knife pressed into her flesh.

  “Do not stop writing. How do you want to die, Laura?”

  This was a question she’d asked herself many times. More than once she’d hoarded her pills with the plan to swallow them all at once. It would be so lovely to simply drift off to sleep.

  “In peace,” she whispered. “I want to die in peace.”

  “Then finish it,” he said.

  Despite the growing weakness in her arms, the lightness in her head, the excruciating ache in her hand, she did as she was told. Each word he whispered in her ear, she made real with ink on paper. At last, he finished. The pen slipped from her hand.

  She was weak, weak, weak.

  She didn’t know how, but she knew this note she’d written would help him.

  She should’ve been stronger.

  If only she had another chance, she would show more courage.

  I promise, next time, I’ll be brave.

  He grabbed the letter and read it aloud, still lurking behind her to hide his face. She pictured him with horns and red glowing eyes as he sounded out the awful words she’d written.

  Her false testimony.

  “Good girl.” His terrible voice rumbled through her. “Now you can rest. Now you die.”

  Chapter 33

  Friday, October 25

  8:45 P.M.

  Mountain View Hotel

  Denver, Colorado

  “So.” Spense took Caity in his arms and pulled her against him. For a moment, he just held her, his hand coasting up and down her back in time with the rhythm of her heart as it beat against his.

  She sighed, and even though he wanted her badly—he always wanted her badly—he understood how tired she must be. He planted a kiss on the top of her head. Her hair smelled nice, like the balsam shampoo she’d picked up in the hotel gift shop. “It’s been a long couple of days. Maybe we should hit the sack early.”

  “Spense . . .” When she tilted her face up, the delicate blue of her eyes seemed muted. “We need to talk.”

  “Okay.” About Webber, he guessed. It was only yesterday, in the limo, that Webber had made it clear he had some kind of past with Caity, but it seemed an eternity had gone by since then. While Spense hadn’t forgotten about Webber’s remarks, he’d been so busy with mountain lions and autopsies and missing bodyguards, there simply hadn’t been time to dwell on Grady Webber and Caity.

  Grady Webber and Caity.

  It hit him now, though, and his blood rose, rushing through his body like a river with the floodgates open.

  He released Caity. Working on steadying his breathing, he paced the perimeter of the room twice before returning to her side. “What’s up?”

  It didn’t bother him that she hadn’t told him about Webber before now. He and Caity hadn’t been a couple long enough to exhaust all their war stories. He certainly hadn’t shared all of his with her yet. Though they hadn’t begun their transformation from “frenemies” into lovers until a few short months ago, it seemed to Spense they’d been together an entire lifetime. Maybe the things they’d been through together had accelerated the bonding process, or maybe, as corny as it sounded, there was truth to the notion that we all have a soul mate.

  Anyway, they’d faced death together more than once, and when his life had “flashed before his eyes,” it was mostly moments he’d shared with Caity. The plain truth was he didn’t think much of his past before her, and he didn’t want to picture a future without her.

  So while he wasn’t bothered that Caity hadn’t yet told him about Grady Webber, the suspicion that Webber might’ve hurt her really got to him. The way her posture stiffened up around him, the wary look on her face every time Webber came near her made Spense want to wrap her in his arms and tell her he’d never let a creep like that hurt her again. He’d never let anyone hurt her again. “Is this about Webber?”

  She nodded, and drawing a long breath, sat down on the bed.

  “I hate the way that guy acts like he still has some sort of claim on you. It’s nothing I can call him on, or believe me, I would have. But I don’t like the way he talks to you, and I sure don’t like the way he looks at you.”

  She grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly. “Exactly. And that’s not a new problem. When I was with him . . .” She looked away.

  “It’s okay, hon. I’m a big boy. I know you’ve been with other guys.”

  She met his gaze. “When I was with him, he acted like he owned me. And when we broke up, he still acted that way. And now . . .”

  With their hands entwined, Caity proceeded to tell him, in the most matter-of-fact way possible, all about Dr. Grady Webber. The man who was supposed to be her teacher and mentor had come on to her when she was a doctor in training. She didn’t say she’d been especially vulnerable to the attentions of an older man because she was still devastated over the loss of her father, but it didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. Through the entire telling, Spense kept his thoughts centered, his hand on hers, and his emotions in check.

  Right up until she told him what happened yesterday at headquarters.

  “He followed you into the bathroom?”

  “Yes.”

  A bomb detonated in his chest. “That son of a bitch.”

  Caity’s grip on his hand tightened. “Not to worry. I’ve already handled it.”

  He was on his feet, and she rose with him, still clinging to his hand.

  “Spense, I said I handled it. It’s over.”

  He pried her fingers off. At the closet, he grabbed his jacket and felt in the pocket until his keys jangled.

  “Where are you going?”

  He could see her breathing had accelerated.

  He could see the worry in her eyes.

  She should be worried.

  About Webber.

  She trailed him out into the hall. “I’m coming with you.”

  She was barefoot. It was forty degrees outside. “Ten seconds.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s how long I’m giving you to get your coat and shoes.”

  She met his eyes. “It’s also how long I’m giving you to get a grip. Start counting.”

  The drive over took seventeen minutes. Seventeen minutes during which Caity pleaded, cajoled, and begged him to keep a cool head. Seventeen minutes during which his blood got hotter and hotter until he could’ve sworn he had boiling water running through his veins. He shed his coat and cracked a window to let in cool air, but then saw Caity shivering. He rolled the window up again and turned on the heat. Perspiration dripped into his eyes, and he swa
tted it away with the back of his hand. “Warm enough?”

  “Yes, thanks. Why are we going to Grady’s place again? What are you planning to do?” Caity asked for the hundredth time.

  She was going to find out sooner or later. He might as well prepare her. “Kick his ass.”

  “Oh good. That’s just what I was hoping you’d say.”

  The car had now officially turned into a kiln. Some of his anger seemed to be burning off along with the top layer of his skin. “Now you’re trying reverse psychology, but it’s not going to stop me.”

  “Of course not. Because why would you forgo the fun of an ass-whooping just because I asked you to?”

  “You think I’m going to enjoy . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence because the truth was he relished the idea of knocking the guy flat.

  “You’re nearly a half foot taller than Grady. You’ve taken down killers in hand-to-hand combat. Grady looks in shape, I know, but he gets his muscles from a gym where they serve cucumber water. He’s an academic psychiatrist. It won’t be a fair fight.”

  “Life’s not fair.” But she had a point.

  “You’re not doing this for me.”

  “Like hell.”

  “You said it yourself. You don’t like the way he talks to me. You don’t like the way he looks at me. If you ask me—”

  “Not asking you, babe.”

  “If you ask me, you’ve been itching for an excuse to show him who’s the alpha dog around here, and now you’ve got one. This isn’t about protecting me. This is about your big fat giant out-of-control ego.” She jammed her finger on the AC. Now she was sweating.

  Shit.

  What he saw on her cheek wasn’t a drop of perspiration.

  He braked so hard his seat belt went taut over his shoulder. He slowed, looking for a place to pull over. Coincidentally, he found one right in front of Grady’s place.

  “Do not cry,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I’m not crying.”

  “Caity, I swear. This has nothing to do with my ego.” Maybe just a little. “I don’t want that pissant little creep anywhere near you.”

  “He’s a witness in our case. Which means we have to deal with him. But I’ve already set firm boundaries. Problem solved.”

  “Caity, following you into the bathroom is a big deal. He was way out of line. No telling how far he’ll try to take it next time.”

  “There’s not going to be a next time. And I’ll say it again, he’s a material witness. If you let your temper get the best of you, then Grady wins. He can file a complaint against you, get you kicked off the case. He could even get you arrested for assault.”

  “He doesn’t have the balls.”

  “You’re underestimating him. Grady’s smart and manipulative. He’ll make it look like you’re the aggressor. You are the aggressor. Let’s just turn around and go home.” She grabbed his hand. “I can take care of myself, but if you get hurt, I get hurt. Grady has probably already figured out that’s the best way to get back at me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s expecting you right now. Don’t let him play you.”

  He put his head on the steering wheel. Tried to focus on her words. She was making a lot of sense. He’d made her promises, too, that he wouldn’t let his feelings for her interfere with getting the job done. It was what they’d agreed on. That was the deal, and he was supposed to honor it.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll just talk to him. But Grady Webber needs to know that if he touches a hair on your head, I’m coming after him.” He blew out a breath and pocketed his keys.

  He came around and got her door for her.

  As they headed up the front steps to Grady’s home, she smiled at him, and talking low, like a trainer soothing an unbroken horse said, “Take it easy.”

  She was right. Of course, she was right. “I promise. I’m just going to talk to him and set him straight.” The three of them would have a nice, mature, grown-up conversation during which he’d make his position perfectly clear.

  He rang the bell.

  Grady Webber opened the door wearing a red-and-black silk dressing gown. He held a snifter of brandy, or perhaps whiskey, in one hand. With the other he motioned them inside. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  He didn’t look a bit surprised. Maybe, like Caity said, he’d been expecting them all along.

  “We just want to talk, Grady. I hope it’s not too inconvenient.” Caity walked through the door, and Spense followed.

  “Anytime you want to come to me, Caitlin, night or day, I’m always ready for you.” Webber’s tongue darted out of his mouth, and he ran it around the rim of his snifter. He fixed his gaze on Caity’s breasts and then did it again.

  Spense glanced down at his hand, watching it curl into a fist in slow motion. His arm drew back, then sprang forward. He heard a loud crack and saw Grady’s chin snap back from his first jab, then again when he punched him square in the face.

  His knuckles stung and vibrated.

  Webber tottered back, and crumpled to the floor, blood gushing from his nose.

  Then he looked up at Spense . . . and smiled.

  Back at the hotel, Caitlin rushed into the bathroom and bolted the door behind her. The irony of locking herself in against the man she loved, after having left a door wide open to a man she loathed didn’t escape her.

  It was an empty gesture on her part, since unlike Grady, Spense would never intrude on her privacy. But she’d wanted him to hear the click of the lock, hoping his gut would clench at the sound, the way hers had sickened when she’d heard his fist connect with Grady’s chin.

  She sat down on the edge of the tub and turned on the water, then absently watched as it circled down the drain.

  Like Spense’s career.

  She dipped her hand in the water, shook the droplets from it, then turned off the faucet and stood up.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  Spense was far too valuable to the FBI, and far too admired by his peers for one punch to end his illustrious career. But it might get him disciplined, and most certainly would get him tossed off the case, if Grady pursued the matter. And from the way Grady had gotten to his feet, practically gloating about needing a hankie for his bleeding nose, it was clear he intended to do Spense as much harm as possible. It wouldn’t surprise her a bit if Grady had something like this up his sleeve the whole time.

  She kicked the base of the toilet, and then took off her shoe and rubbed her throbbing foot. She shouldn’t have told Spense about the bathroom incident in the first place.

  No. That wasn’t right. She should’ve told him, and he should’ve acted like a reasonable adult.

  “Caity.” Spense rapped on the door. “You okay in there?”

  “Fine.”

  He knocked again.

  “Can I come in?”

  She sighed. Now who was being childish?

  “I’m coming out.”

  She opened the door, and there he stood, arms open, a look of contrition on his face. She could either brush past him and be miserable the rest of the night . . . or . . . she fell against him. “Dammit, Spense. I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  She waited for him to say he wished he hadn’t too, but he didn’t.

  He kissed the top of her head, then her eyelids, then finally, and softly, he kissed her lips. Instinctively, she opened her mouth for him, and for one moment, forgot everything except the deliciousness of being kissed by a man who knew her every weakness. Had she not run out of breath, said kiss might’ve ended the discussion once and for all. Summoning all her will she came up for air and stepped out of his embrace.

  His arms dangled slowly back to his sides. “I’m sorry that I upset you. But I’m not sorry I decked him. I’d do it again—”

  She stopped him by pressing her fingers to his lips before he said something to make her regret the moment they’d just shared. She’d cooled off, and she had something important on her mind. “You know it was wrong, but I don’t want to keep
going around and around about it. It’s over and done. I’d like to forget it entirely, but I don’t think that’s wise. Grady has ammunition against you, now—if he chooses to use it. So I’d suggest you shut up and let me get to work.”

  “Get to work on what?”

  “The best defense is an offense. Did you copy the files of Grady’s sessions with Laura?”

  Spense tilted his head. “You’re thinking his records might reveal some unethical practices . . .”

  “We can kill two pigeons at once. Arm ourselves against an attack by Grady and figure out what the hell is happening to Laura Chaucer at the same time.”

  “I’m in.”

  “Good. Because I’m not leaving this room until I’ve been through every page of this thirteen-year medical record.”

  She sat at the table, while Spense prowled the room.

  “We can split them up,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I need to look at these all myself. So there’s really no point. No offense, but you wouldn’t know what to look for.”

  “Then how am I going to help?”

  She smiled. “You can order room service.”

  He ordered up a salad for himself, and a cheeseburger for her, then he hopped in the shower. When he came back the room smelled like shaving cream. He stretched out in his boxers on the bed, and she had to turn her back to avoid the distraction.

  Her cheeseburger sat forgotten while she combed through the files. Spense ate his salad and thumbed through the Agatha Christie she’d been reading on the plane.

  Three hours in, she laid a thick sheaf of papers down, and threw her head back. She was tired. The soft sound of snoring came from the general vicinity of the bed where Spense sprawled with his mouth open. Her eyelids drifted shut. Then suddenly, her head jerked to her chest, and the movement startled her into consciousness . . . and a sudden realization. “Oh lord. I think I’m onto something.”

  Spense moaned, then she felt something soft hit her in the back of her head.

  A pillow.

  “You woke me up.” He came around and sat beside her at the work table. “This better be good.”

  She turned her chair toward him, her knees touching his. “Chemical restraint.”