by Debra Webb
He liked her too much. The courage and creativity she showed trying to outwit him and escape made him want to stand back and let her win. Should he do that? he wondered. Should he let her escape without any confirmation of her captor’s identity? A safe option, but for some twisted reason, he didn’t want to confirm he was the coward she’d labeled him.
While he debated his best approach, formulating a story Rebecca might embrace, he circled the block twice. Someone had been brave enough to take his designated parking space on the side street.
Making sure the driver on his tail was following closely, Parker aimed for the dry cleaner to pick up the dress he’d dropped off yesterday. With any luck the gesture would give Rebecca pause before she filed a report with the police. He didn’t bother with a meal, since he was about to insist she hide elsewhere. He didn’t expect her to let him off the hook for kidnapping. His behavior had been atrocious, his knee-jerk decisions lousy.
No, she had every right to file charges against him. The catch would be convincing her to grant him a few days to get this team of assassins out of the US before they killed anyone else. Although the police department was capable, they were no match for the coming battle, and Parker sure couldn’t stop anyone if he was buried under a mountain of paperwork and complaints in a county lockup.
Chapter Seven
When the lights flickered, twice, and then went out as her captor heeded her request, Becca readied herself to fight. Today was the day she’d break free of this room. He’d been in this room with her. She had a sense of his size and power. She would have one chance, one moment when surprise was on her side. She had to make this work or he might never let her go no matter what he’d said that first night. Reminding herself she’d be fighting Lawton, she bounced a little on her bare feet. Whether or not it was true, she had to believe she was going up against someone who’d once had morals and might pull a punch rather than hurt an innocent woman.
Overnight, she’d done what she could to interfere with the camera feeds, without making it obvious she was the root of the trouble. When the red lights were out, she’d balanced on her suitcase, scraping and prying at the lenses, half-afraid he’d burst through the door and tie her up. That approach hadn’t worked, so she’d resorted to using the tweezers from her toiletry case to work on the screws in the brackets. Once the brackets were loose, she jammed her metal nail file into the nest of wires behind the camera by the door and hoped for the best.
“Step back from the door,” the menacing, altered voice rumbled through the speaker.
She obeyed, silently lamenting whatever sensor or gadget kept him informed of her actions in here. Did he have it wired for infrared too?
The door opened with the familiar near-silent whoosh and she heard the rustle of plastic. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Though he’d never really laid a hand on her, she feared that was about to change. Permanently. She’d seen enough true-crime documentaries and read enough fiction thrillers to know the preferred material for containing evidence of a murder was plastic.
She tried to rein in her racing imagination. While it was hard to accept that a veteran with Lawton’s record would kill her in cold blood, it wasn’t an unprecedented situation. People went off the rails every day, and she suspected very few of them had his motivation of keeping millions of dollars in gold.
Her skin went hot and then cold and she trembled, faced with the daunting task of survival. She would not become a victim without a fight that left her mark on him. She refused to die alone and unheard in this horrible room with all its comfortable amenities.
Holding her breath, she heard only his footfalls, the plastic and the whisper of the door moving on those unbeatable, industrial hinges. Timing her attack based on the way he’d entered on previous visits, she waited until he was through the door to strike.
She didn’t do the obvious lunge for the open door. He had to be prepared for that option. No, she kicked the small ottoman behind him into the gap, praying it would be enough to prevent the door from closing.
Only a faint sliver of light from whatever was beyond the door illuminated the space. It was more than she’d seen during his past visits, and she used the variations in the shadows to sort out her captor’s shape within the dark room. Riding a tide of desperate determination, she threw herself at him, aiming her shoulder at his midsection. He angled away, but she got enough of him to shove him back against the love seat.
As much as she wanted to pummel him or turn on the lights and demand answers, she scrambled for the door. Escape was her top priority. Five steps was all she needed to reach the door from the love seat. Five steps and she’d be on the other side looking for a cop. Let the police sort out who her captor was, how he’d brought her here and why. The state prosecutors could have a field day with him in court.
“Stop!”
No way. The heavy vaultlike door was fighting the ottoman, and winning, based on the scrape and snap of the wooden legs. She had mere seconds to make her escape. Two more strides and her ordeal was over.
He caught her ankle and dragged her back. She screamed in despair, kicking him hard enough in the shoulder to make him grunt with pain. Up again, she’d taken only one stride before he had one arm locked around her midriff. He turned her to face him and part of his arm slid over her breast. On reflex, she slapped him.
The loud crack of her hand against his face startled them both. The pure-luck shot gave her another opening. She used it, but he caught her again. She screamed for help, using her best horror flick scream. Someone must be within earshot outside this room. Though she fought him with everything, hands, hair clip, fingernails, knees, elbows and feet, he kept gaining the advantage. Her arms flailed as she reached for any object to fend him off. Nothing worked.
Even with the adrenaline shooting through her system, she was outmatched. He had every advantage from size and reach to home court. She found herself caught between the wall and his body.
“Settle down!” he snapped. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Yet.” She tried again to knee him in the groin and missed. Again.
He swore as she launched into one more round of shrieking hostility. His expertise versus her will to survive. It shouldn’t have been a shock that expertise won. He won.
She found herself pinned to the cold tile floor by his hot, hard body. His hands manacled her wrists and his legs pressed the full length of hers. In the almost near dark, her mind started cataloging the details of his build. Clearly her captor kept himself in excellent shape and she wondered if the calluses she felt on his hands were from the gym or some kind of honorable work.
And why did it matter? Her escape attempt had failed miserably, and whether or not this was Parker Lawton she knew she wouldn’t have another chance. Thinking of the plastic, she felt the first tears leak from her eyes. It was over. She coughed out a sob of despair, despite her best efforts to go out strong.
“Lights to dim.” The voice alteration was gone and the clear, deep voice giving the order swirled around her like a sensual fog. That he didn’t sound the least bit winded while her breath sawed in and out of her lungs made her want to start fighting all over again.
The small pinpoints of light in the ceiling came up in clusters and illuminated the room, confirming her suspicions. Parker Lawton was her captor. He stared down at her, apparently in no hurry to move from his position on top of her. Relief and temper warred for dominance while her traitorous body enjoyed every sensation. Her gaze drifted from his dark eyes to his full lips, and for a long moment she wondered how those lips would feel on hers.
“Rebecca?” Her name in his normal voice sounded strange, broke the spell she’d fallen under.
“Get off me!” She swallowed a fresh burst of frustrated tears and bucked and twisted under him, to no avail. “You did this!” Furious, she flung a string of obscenities at him until
her breath was gone. With him on top of her, she couldn’t quite get her lungs refilled. “Why?” she gasped.
“Take it easy.” He levered himself up just enough for her to breathe. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
He already had, in more ways than she cared to admit. She had always believed she was strong and smart. Then he’d come along and kidnapped her from a public building and held her against her will. She hated the things she’d considered doing to gain her freedom.
“I’m going to press charges,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. She glared up at him as he hopped to his feet. She was already feeling the effects of their fight. “By this time next year, I’ll own your security company and anything else with your name on it.”
“Probably.” He held out a hand to help her up and she batted it away.
His easy acceptance of her claim was the equivalent of pouring gasoline on a fire. “How long have you kept me here?” she demanded, standing up without any help from him.
“Too long. You’re free to go.”
Her knees nearly buckled with relief. She leaned into the love seat for support. “Do you mean it?”
He nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I want to explain a few things before you go.”
The red imprint of her hand on his cheek gave her a little satisfaction. She was still outraged that anyone thought they could smother a story by holding her here in a safe room. That he was a veteran honorably discharged with combat hero medals made it worse.
“Start talking while I pack.” The statement was ludicrous, but she owned it, turning around to gather up the belongings she hadn’t expected to take with her.
“I have your phone, uh, in my car.”
“How convenient for you.” She didn’t want to know what he thought he’d found in her call history and the other apps. He’d picked through her life, she knew that from his questions. She slid a look over her shoulder at his continued silence and caught him looking through the sketches she’d made. “Stop that. Hand it over.”
He shook his head, flipping the pages back and forth, engrossed in her drawings.
“It’s private,” she said, resisting the urge to stomp her foot like a three-year-old. “Like a journal.” She made a grab for it and he swiveled out of her reach.
“You’re good,” he said absently.
“Gee, thanks.” Ignore it, ignore him, she coached herself, zipping her suitcase. “Open the door.”
He held up the notepad and used his phone to take pictures of the pages. “Stop that,” she said.
To her surprise he did stop. He held out the notepad, open to the page she’d devoted entirely to sketches of the man with the scar. “Do you know this man?” His eyes held the same worry she recalled from the night of the awards gala.
She took a half step back, unnerved by his intensity and the mean eyes leering at her from the page. “No. Do you?”
“But you’ve seen this man,” he pressed.
“Obviously we both have,” she replied.
“Where did you see him?”
“At the awards gala. He reeked of onions.” She gripped the handle of her suitcase. “Open the door, Lawton.”
“Call me Parker.”
She wouldn’t. “Open the door.”
“Have you seen him anywhere else in town? Do you remember what he did to you?”
Becca squared her shoulders and set her teeth against the tremor that threatened at his questions. She remembered feeling caught and the scent of onions overpowered by something sweeter, stronger. “No,” she lied. She didn’t owe Lawton anything. “Open. The. Door.”
He handed her the notepad. “I am sorry, Rebecca, for everything.” Stepping to the panel, he pressed his hand to the screen. There was a soft beep, and then he did something else and the door swung open.
She hurried by him, stopping short when she found herself in someone’s magnificent home. “Have you been right out here the whole time?” She gazed around the gorgeous, modern decor of the condo, drank in the wide view of the ocean. Freedom had never looked so wonderful.
His eyebrows flexed and, smart man, he didn’t take his gaze off her. “Here in the condo? No.”
She pushed away the flood of questions about his whereabouts, focusing on the most important issue. “I’m leaving. You can keep the phone. I plan to burn everything you’ve touched once I’m home.” She started for the door.
“I’ll let you leave once we come to terms.”
She plowed forward, determined to get as far from him as possible, until she saw the security panel at the front door as well. Naturally, when she tried the doorknob, it was useless.
“Terms?” She folded her arms over her chest. “I will only agree that I won’t kill you for this. Everything else is fair game.” She held up a hand when he shifted his feet. “Hold still,” she ordered. “I mean it. I can get this story out and moving with a single email. I can ruin you, your company—”
“You can,” he said as if it wouldn’t bother him in the least. “Or you could listen.”
Listen? She’d been listening since he locked her in here. He’d terrified her, shocked her and annoyed her. She was done playing this game his way.
He moved again and she braced to fend off an attack. Her gaze locked on the dry cleaning bag on the floor behind him, just inside the safe room. That was the plastic she’d heard in the darkness. He turned slightly, following her gaze. He plucked it from the floor and smoothed the plastic and the fabric, then draped it neatly over the back of one of the dining room chairs.
“That’s my dress.”
“Yes.”
“You had my dress dry-cleaned?” Her gaze darted from the bag to him and back again. “When?” Why couldn’t she figure out if he was a good guy or a bad guy? What kind of kidnapper would be so thoughtful?
The sick kind, she told herself. He’d held her against her will for two days? Three? She had no real way of knowing aside from the meals. Her thoughts were pinballing through her mind. “How long has it been?”
“Almost two days,” he said, his gaze steady. “It’s Saturday morning.”
She wanted to hate him for his steely composure as her self-control frayed. “It’s already Saturday?” She thought of Bill’s failed interview with Manning and her Thursday date. “Has anyone reported me missing?”
“No.” He shifted. It was barely perceptible, but she was an expert at the subtleties of body language.
“Because you did what exactly?” She gestured for him to fill in the sentence.
“I’ve been managing your emails. The office thinks you’re out of town dealing with a family emergency.”
Only the calming methods she’d learned in yoga class kept her from launching herself at him. Well, that and the physical scuffle that proved she was grossly outmatched. The element of surprise had been her only advantage, and she sensed she would never have it again. Not with this man.
Figuring out who he was before she made her move didn’t change what he was. He was a soldier, an expert in covert operations and financially blessed by fair means or foul along the way. She took a step toward him. “Did you steal the gold?”
“No.” His gaze was steady and the sorrow in his dark brown eyes was obvious. “No one on that list has ever stolen anything.” He gestured for her to sit down.
She remained where she was.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” he began.
“Which part?” By sheer willpower, she kept her hands loose when she wanted to ball them into fists. “Being held against my will or being able to identify you as my captor?”
“None of it is ideal,” he snapped. “Please sit down.”
She shook her head. “Not here. Not until I’m far away from that obnoxiously tiny room. Just say what you need t
o say so I can leave.” She was coming dangerously close to begging again.
A crack of laughter startled her and she aimed her notorious glare at him. At the network, it was the expression known to silence argumentative reporters and send interns scurrying for the nearest shelter. He only laughed again. “What’s so funny?”
“This. Us.” He tipped his head toward her. “I imagine that scowl works on most people.”
“It does, yes.”
He bobbed his chin as if seeing the merits. “If our lives weren’t on the line, it might have worked on me.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
His slashing dark eyebrows lifted a fraction. “You make patronizing sound worse than kidnapping.” He sat down and leaned back into the cushions of the plush sofa. “Yes, the doors are locked right now. You will be allowed to leave once you understand the stakes.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I believe you. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t need me at all.” He shook his head. “This is different.”
She suppressed a shiver at the hard edge in his voice. She took a seat on the edge of the black sofa facing him. Her body thrummed with tension from head to toe. “Get to the point. I have a couple days’ worth of work to catch up on before Monday.”
“First, please accept my apology. Kidnapping you was a knee-jerk reaction. It started as a rescue and just spiraled out of control. I regret how you’ve been inconvenienced by my fear-based decisions.”
She couldn’t imagine him afraid of much of anything. “Are you afraid of me?”
He nodded, a rueful smile on his lips. “On a few levels.”
A rescue—her mind latched on to that detail, refusing to let go. She crossed her legs at the knee and let her foot swing a little as she studied him. He meant it and his sincerity knocked her further off balance. “Then why did you do it?”
