by Debra Webb
“You don’t leave until I say so,” he said.
The digitized voice would have terrified her if she hadn’t been so sure this was Lawton. Lucy wouldn’t call him a stand-up guy if he was a complete jerk all the time. “Listen, Lawton, this is a big mistake. We all make them.” She flexed her wrists, trying to get the zip ties to bite into her skin for proof later. “Restraining me only makes you look worse.”
“Stop fidgeting.” He leaned over the back of the chair. “You’ll be released when I’m satisfied.”
What did that mean? Was he suggesting she trade her body for her freedom? It sounded dreadful when he suggested it. Even though she was ninety-five percent sure this was Lawton, for the first time she was truly scared. It was one thing for her to make the offer, but to have him demand sex was completely different. She didn’t care that it was a double standard.
“How many times have you been to Iraq?” he asked.
The question, so far outside her line of thinking, startled her. “Iraq? Once.”
“And overseas?”
She clamped her lips together, ignoring her watery knees and the fear trickling down her spine with icy fingers. He’d been through her computer. If he wanted answers, he could untie her or go back and find out the hard way. She would not cooperate with him while he had her tied up.
“Why were you in Iraq?” He tugged on her bound wrists when she didn’t reply. “Answer me, Rebecca.”
“You already know.” She tried to turn around, and he held her in place with one hand and his superior skills. “You can’t keep this up. People will be looking for me by now.”
“They aren’t. Answer my questions and we’ll both be out of here sooner.”
No one was looking for her? He sounded too sure of himself. “What did you do?” she demanded.
“Give me a few answers and you’ll be free to go find out for yourself.”
Only more questions danced on her tongue. Questions, demands and promises of prosecution. She bit all of it back, swallowed it down. When she was free, she would be sure he paid the price for every inconvenience and worry he caused her.
“Why don’t you work in Hollywood anymore?”
She wasn’t fooled by the changeup. “It’s none of your business.”
“You should be glad I disagree with you.” His hands stroked across her shoulders, in toward her neck and back out again, miraculously smoothing the tension out of her muscles. “Why?”
What was he up to now? Did he want to be her counselor or her massage therapist? She might as well play along until she had a better opening to escape. “Nepotism is an epidemic in Hollywood. No way to make my work stand on its own merit.”
“Is your work that good?”
“Yes. My reporters are the best and we deliver a quality show. We were in Iraq because our teamwork is that good,” she added. According to the source, the last village on their circuit had been attacked by insurgents the week after they left and the gold stolen by the Americans sent to clear out the intruders. “Did our presence put those people in jeopardy?”
“No.”
The word rasped across her senses, a harsh counterpoint to the easy movements of his hands. “Tell me what happened during your tour,” he said. “Tell me who you met, what you saw.”
She gave in. What would holding back accomplish at this point? He was completely in control here, and nothing she said would change the past. Everything he wanted to know was on her computer, and she suspected he’d helped himself to that already. A small cooperation might get her out of these zip ties and out of this room sooner rather than later.
“We were escorted the entire time by a security detail. We only visited areas that had been clear for three weeks or so,” she continued as the tastes and smells and the surprising sights filled her mind. “You remember all of that too, don’t you, Lawton?”
He lifted his hands away and she could still smell the fresh soap on his skin. “Go on,” he said.
She did. “We had two weeks once we left Baghdad, and we made the most of it.” She shared every detail from those days packed with movement, light, trepidation and joy. The highs and lows of the trip had been fresh in her mind since the anonymous email hit her inbox.
“Did you ever see a fortune in gold?” he asked.
“No,” she admitted. “The families we met and villages we visited were quite modest.”
“And were they happy to chat with Americans?”
She nodded. “Yes. War is ugly, but the people were grateful for the positive changes.”
“I see.” His fingers lightly brushed down her arms. Calloused and cool, his touch slid to a stop just above the bindings, resting lightly on the pulse points of her wrists.
“Please let me go. I’ve told you everything.”
“Not yet.” He leaned closer, his breath warm on her hair, and somehow he managed not to touch her anywhere else. “Before someone sent you that trumped-up email about stolen gold, have you ever had contact from anyone you met in Iraq?”
She tried to stand up, but he kept her in place. “You cowardly bastard! You’ve been through my email?”
“Among other things,” he said easily. “Answer me. Have you had contact with anyone from Iraq?”
She thought of Fadi. He’d been such an asset, helping them as a translator and sharing his remarkable culture with her, Bill and their crew. She’d been hoping since the beginning that he hadn’t authored that email, if only because it meant misfortune had befallen his family. “No,” she snapped. “What are you doing now? Do you think you’re a human lie detector?”
“Something like that.”
If an altered voice could express a smug smile, his did. Her mind filled with an image of the sexy, tuxedoed Parker Lawton at her door, lips curved in an inviting smile rather than set into an irritated slash. Her hormones took a sudden side trip down kissing lane.
What was wrong with her? They weren’t holding hands, he wasn’t trying to romance her, he was monitoring her responses for truthfulness.
“Do you or the network ever trace anonymous informants?”
She stifled the first instinct to cooperate. He was treading into territory that would make lawyers salivate. “I’ve cooperated enough. It’s your turn to share.”
“You don’t want to hear my secrets.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted, seizing a chance to go on the offensive. “Did you steal gold while you were in Iraq, Lawton?”
“What will you do if you find out I’m not who you think I am?”
Another evasion. “Turn on the lights and prove it.”
“I’ll give you a truth.” His fingertips slid up a few inches and back down again to settle once more. Had he felt her pulse skip in response? “I have no intention of keeping you here any longer than necessary.”
Why did his emphasis on necessary create a swirl of warm temptation low in her belly? She scolded herself for not being revolted by his audacity. She should be resisting. Fighting. Taking action to get out of here. “Shall we define necessary?”
“Not unless you’re a lawyer,” he deadpanned. “I’m well aware of your position with the network, your college degrees and your grades all the way back to kindergarten. Seems you were a real chatterbox as a kid.”
Now, that upset her. He had no right to go tearing through her life. Her work, yes. Her past and her childhood? No way. “You—”
“Cowardly bastard? I’ve been called worse,” he said. “You might be right. Tell me how the network would track down a source that doesn’t want to be found.”
“No.” She shifted as far from him as he allowed. It wasn’t nearly enough. “Let me go or leave. I’m done talking.”
“I need information, Rebecca.”
Her shoulders slumped, defeated. “If you don’t li
ke what I have to say, let me go. Surely you have the skills and gadgets to keep an eye on me in the real world.”
“Watching you isn’t my point. I need to know you’re safe while I’m gathering information. The sooner you tell me everything you know about the source, the sooner I’ll let you go.”
“Everything?”
“Yes. What I don’t know could hurt both of us.”
She fidgeted under his fingertips, seeking a bit more space. A little distance would restore her sanity. He kept his fingers on the sensitive skin, his body close enough to catch her every twitch and flinch.
“In reverse order,” she began, “everything I know about this situation amounts to filing charges with the police the minute you let me out of this room.”
“I’m not surprised. Go on.”
Not surprised and not concerned. “I also know you’re a jerk.”
“So noted. Get to the part that led us to this point.”
“You led me here,” she muttered. “Where are we anyway?”
“Rebecca.”
She sighed. Fighting him was getting her nowhere, better to just tell him and let the chips fall. At some point, her captor would make a mistake. She had to believe that much.
“Anonymous tips are the worst. I told you that before.” Now she was repeating herself. “Bill and I started fact-checking the tip itself. We learned the unit accused of the gold theft was in the area at the time of the alleged theft. Parker Lawton was part of that unit, just as the tipster claimed.” Did his breath catch? Oh, she hoped she was making him nervous.
“The family name caught my attention. Bill and I got to know them as well as differing cultures and a few brief days allowed. They didn’t project the wealth I would expect to go with the amount of gold stolen. They were kind, helpful and articulate.”
She had to stop for a steadying breath, deciding how she wanted to explain it to him. “So this tip comes in and we start working it.”
“Because you were angry for the family?” he asked.
“Because exposing appalling behavior is the right thing to do,” she countered.
“You’re eager to assume the worst of those soldiers,” he said.
“Not true. The show is about giving viewers a compelling, objective story.” She paused, trying to dial down the defensive tone. “We’ve been doing our research. Did you know one man on that team has a fortune? He’s inexplicably wealthy,” she added, wishing she could see his face. “As in one day he was an average guy, and almost overnight he was a billionaire. That in itself is suspicious.”
He snorted. “Suspicious isn’t proof. Go on.”
Go on. Why did that two-word directive slip over her skin like silk, even with the creepy voice alteration device? “You saw the email from the source. There were six names on the list. Bill and I divided the research to speed things along. So far Lawton hasn’t agreed to speak with Bill on the record. He will, though, won’t he?”
“No idea.”
“The night of the gala, the night you kidnapped me, Bill called me from a diner where he was waiting to meet the former CO of the team. The guy was late. What did you do, warn him off?”
“You’re mistaken.”
She laughed, the sound disappearing into the dark. “Please. I know it’s you, Lawton.” Please don’t let it be anyone else. “Who else has any cause to hold me hostage?” She thought of the man with the scar and the brutal grip. “I can’t imagine another thief taking this much interest in me or the show. I’m not an idiot, Lawton.” She had to get him to slip up and admit it.
“I’m not Lawton.”
“Maybe not,” she said, pretending to consider. It was difficult to sell the nonchalant bravado effectively with only her voice while he hovered close enough to catch every reaction. “I had it on good authority he is a stand-up guy. You sure aren’t.”
“Tell me more about the family you think lost the gold. The source gave you a pretty common name.”
That caught her off guard. Had he known them well too? “Why don’t we work together? The show is objective, remember? Together we can probably figure out who the source is. We can even tell your side, and if the men on the list are really innocent, we’ll make that clear.”
He made another disbelieving sound, accompanied by one more adjustment of his fingers on her pulse points. “You’d work with me? A man you believe is connected to an army unit who stole from your friends?”
“Yes.” She needed to sell the lie, had to convince him she could be an asset. Once she got out of this room, she’d turn him over to the first cop she saw. “You’ve done your homework. You know we work with all sorts of people to get to the heart of a story. I’d work with the devil himself if it gets me out of here.”
“The devil, me, but not your dad. Interesting.”
Taking a play out of his book, she left that assertion unanswered.
“I’m not the devil,” he said, his voice tight. “You should know Bill didn’t get his interview. Theo Manning is dead.”
What? She swiveled her head around to look at him, the effort futile in the darkness. “No,” she murmured. “How? When?” He was only trying to shock her. Still, she felt her heart clutch, worried he might be telling her the truth. He couldn’t mean it.
“Murdered on Thursday night, thanks to your research,” he continued. “Jeff Bruce, second on that list, is in the hospital. It wasn’t an accident. You, Rebecca, are a threat to all the men on that list. You’ll stay right here.”
His fingers lifted from her wrists and he caught both her hands in one of his. She felt a flare of fear and in the next moment the bindings were gone, her hands free. Her back, the air around her, cooled as he retreated. She hadn’t even heard him open a knife or tool capable of slicing though the zip ties so smoothly. Maybe it was a secret trick he’d learned in the army.
His stealth was almost worse than the absolute control he held. He’d clearly thought through each step. Maybe he’d done something like this before, yet nothing in Parker Lawton’s background indicated he was a serial kidnapper or worse. Nothing they’d found so far, anyway.
Other than his instant leap from middle class to wealthy, nothing indicated he was anything other than an honorable veteran. The opposing pictures painted by the anonymous source and the first layer of facts had made her want to dig deeper into Lawton, with or without an end story in mind. Now not so much.
Once more logic fed the doubt that had taken root in her mind. What if the man in control of this room and her life wasn’t Lawton, but some crazy thug he’d hired to interrogate her?
“Thanks,” she said, rubbing her wrists where his hands had been. The zip ties chafed her pride more than her skin, and releasing her was a move that showed trust. Or pure arrogance, a little voice in her head pointed out. “If you prove the tip is bogus, I won’t even press charges.” She lied openly now that he wasn’t close enough to catch the deception. “At the very least, let’s have the rest of this conversation with the lights on.”
She heard the soft whir of the lock as the door opened and closed again. The lights came up and she turned a circle, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light, searching for him. “Oh, come on!” She did another full circle, as if by willing it she could make him reappear.
“We’ll talk again,” the voice carried through the speakers.
She leaped for the door and hammered it with her fists. “You jerk! You need me out there!”
“We’re all safer with you in there. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Hours! With no windows or clocks, she had no idea what time that would be in the real world. “Wait!” She wouldn’t let him go without getting something in return.
“What is it?” he queried.
“When you come back, be polite.” Considering the vast imbalance of power here, sh
e probably should have phrased that as a question rather than a demand.
“How so?”
Oh, good, he was still out there, listening. “Give the lights a flicker or say hello before tumbling me into the dark. Please,” she added belatedly. She pointed at the upended water glass she’d hit when he turned out lights. “The floor you save might be your own.”
In the corner, the tiny red light on the camera flashed. “Okay.” The speaker clicked and the camera light winked out.
He was gone. She knew it even without making a request or comment that would go unanswered. The red light was out on the camera too. She assumed that meant he wasn’t watching all the time, only when the light was on. She could find a way to use that.
She’d thought she had him on the hook while they were talking, and he’d wriggled off again. He was out there chasing something and she was stuck. Was Theo Manning really dead? She rubbed the heel of her hand over the ache in her chest. Whatever was going on out there, Lawton couldn’t keep her here indefinitely. He had to know that as well as she did.
While she still believed it was most likely the man holding her was Lawton, she didn’t know. Didn’t have any proof.
She had to admit to herself that the search to corroborate the anonymous email combined with a friend’s death—if that was true—might have pushed a man like Lawton over the edge. She could have a better idea of who she was dealing with if her dad had helped her get a look at the service records.
That didn’t answer why he’d locked her up in here. If Lawton wasn’t the man holding her, she might be in dire trouble. This guy could be as much of a nutcase as her captivity suggested. Dwelling on that scenario only fed the smoldering panic inside her that was all too ready to leap into a consuming inferno of debilitating fear.
