by Jo Leigh
At least she could sit down. Of course, the john wasn’t exactly her idea of a great chair, but it was better than looking at him. Her real shame wasn’t that she’d been deceived but, that knowing she’d been deceived, she still wanted him.
That’s what made her sick. That’s what terrified her.
How could she want so badly to believe him? Why did she have to force herself out of the fantasy where they lived happily ever after? She truly did need a shrink. Not Dr. Bay, of course, but a good shrink.
She laughed as her chin dropped to her chest. Too late for shrinkage now. She wondered if they’d kill her first before they threw her in the water. That’s something she’d beg for, if she had to. The thought of drowning…
“Tate?” Michael’s voice came from directly outside the door. “Do you want some coffee? I can hand you a cup. You don’t have to come out.”
“No.” She waited, but he didn’t respond. She wished there was a peephole. It would have been so much better if she could know where he was.
She stood, whipped off her clothes and got under the shower, not taking the soap or the shampoo; she was there for the water. She’d always had her best ideas in the shower, and now would be a really good time for something brilliant to occur.
She laughed, inhaling water, then choking for a long, long time. Which was when she had the thought. She wasn’t sure it was brilliant-in fact, it was probably an excellent example of how she’d lost her mind-but there it was. And there it stayed. All day.
MICHAEL GLANCED OUT the porthole, not surprised to see the red sky of sunset. He hadn’t taken a drink or eaten a bite because he really hadn’t wanted to bother Tate in the bathroom, but things were getting a bit hairy.
His personal problem wasn’t nearly as worrisome as what Tate was going through. He hated that he’d put her in this position, but he couldn’t figure out what to say to make things better. He’d told her the truth and he feared that anything else would sever any slight hope that she could believe him. But the truth seemed meager and foolish. Perhaps if he had told her the moment he’d been shoved inside the cabin, she’d have bought it. But he’d been an idiot about that, too.
It was difficult not to put all the blame on Charlie. Granted, Charlie deserved a great deal of it. But then, he did, too. As long as he was able to get an accurate picture of what was real, then he had a chance to save her. If he indulged himself in blaming Charlie, he would lose sight of the objective: keep Tate alive. That was his whole purpose, and he could put nothing ahead of that. His second goal was to keep Tate sane. To help her not be terrified every minute. Right now, that was the more difficult task, but again, if he kept his eye on the prize, he could get-
The head door opened. Tate stood in the doorway, leaning on the jamb, her arms crossed over the boys’ T-shirt they’d found in the dresser.
She looked good. Her color was fine. In fact, she seemed a bit flushed. Her chest rose and fell normally. There were no apparent tremors. The only thing that looked off was the puffiness of her eyes, but even that was in the regular range. He wanted to say something, anything, but he held back, afraid that whatever he did say would be wrong and would send her straight back to panic.
“So these are my options,” she said, her voice even and considered. “I can do the completely logical, rational thing and not believe one thing you’ve said. It makes perfect sense that you set me up for this. I mean, who else knew we were going to be at Prada? That Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to get to me in that tiny little window of opportunity? It makes sense that you came after me, knowing I had a great deal of money in a secret account. Why else was I taken to a boat? It made getting the money easy and my disposal a snap.
“It also makes sense that you would bring your brother into this. That he’d know someone who had the boat, had the means, had the manpower. Everything points to you. I’m not being melodramatic, either. Any cop on any Law & Order would nail your ass before the first commercial.”
She straightened, and with arms still crossed, still protective, she took two steps toward him. “Or, against all logic and reason, I can believe you. I can shift my focus to our relationship in the car. How much I enjoyed our long conversations and how much I admired your own logic and reason. I can remember how you made me laugh.
“And I can think about making love with you and how you made me feel. Of course, if I choose to believe you and I find out I was wrong, I will want to die, so that works in your favor. If I’m right, and you’re innocent and then you die…Well, you’re just not allowed to, okay? Because I am taking a huge, stupid risk here. It makes no sense, and if my father knew, he’d strangle me for my own good.”
She walked a little closer to the bed, and when she stood in front of him, telling him in no uncertain terms that she was on his side, she dropped her arms. He looked up at her face. She looked beautiful, with her hair thick and wavy, with no makeup, with no defenses whatsoever.
He stood. “Tate, I can’t believe I’m going to say this. Unfortunately I have no choice.”
Her face got sad and she bit her lower lip.
“No, it’s not like that. Don’t fret. But I have to use the toilet.” He squeezed her shoulders. “You were in there a really long time.”
Desperate now, he dashed the few feet to his objective, kicking the door shut behind him.
Tate stared at the closed door. She smiled despite herself, and a moment later she was laughing, picturing the poor guy crossing his legs as the hours had crawled by. She’d taken advantage of her location a couple of times, but it hadn’t occurred to her that he might need to, too.
She sat on the edge of the bed as she laughed, not just at his predicament but at her own willingness to live knee-deep in denial. It was utter nonsense to believe him, and she knew it, but if this was the end, she’d rather go out with the charming liar, thank you. She’d rather have as much sex as was humanly possible. She’d prefer not to have any more panic attacks and to continue to use Michael as her safe place.
Either way, believing him or not, she doubted she was walking away from this, so what the hell? She’d wasted so much time, so much life, that this seemed the sanest decision she’d made since dumping Graydon.
“So you think that was funny?” Michael had taken her place leaning against the doorjamb. His arms were crossed over his chest, which was too bad. He had a great chest.
“Yes. I think so. Although I do apologize for putting you in that dire circumstance.”
He nodded. Kept staring at her.
“Well? Comments? Suggestions?”
His wonderful lips curled up into a great smile. “A couple of comments. No suggestions.”
“Go ahead.”
“I completely understand not believing a word I said.”
“Thanks.”
“I thought about laying all my theories on the table, but now that seems irrelevant. This is clearly an act of faith.”
“That’s true.”
“I just want to state what I know about you. These aren’t opinions, by the way. They’re facts.”
“Uh-oh.”
His expression grew serious. “Don’t jump to conclusions.” He came to the bed and sat down next to her. When she looked into his eyes, he looked straight back. “I know you’ve got strengths that are invisible to you. I know that you haven’t been helped to see them by your father or your shrink. I know that Sara’s been a damn good friend and that you should listen to her more closely.
“I know that it feels insurmountable, this panic disorder of yours, but I’m damned impressed by how you’ve handled yourself since we’ve been here. By all rights, you should be comatose by now. A drooling mess. But you’re not, are you? You’ve made a very tough decision, and that’s not easy for the sanest people out there. You chose life, Tate, and given all the evidence, you shouldn’t have.”
She turned away from him as the tears threatened to fall. She�
�d never have guessed he’d use this opportunity to talk about her. To give her the single greatest pep talk of her life. She’d imagined him shoring up his alibi, redirecting her suspicions.
Maybe believing in him wasn’t the stupidest decision she’d ever made.
“There’s food here, and I know you haven’t had any all day.”
She sniffed, blinked, then turned to look at the plates. Each one had a sandwich, a few baby carrots and a bag of chips. Suddenly it looked better than a meal at Nobu.
She grabbed one of the plates and tore off the cellophane. Michael laughed and did the same with his plate. For the next ten minutes they did nothing but scarf. He got up once and went to the vanity, where there were two sodas. Even though neither was diet, she took hers eagerly.
The idyll didn’t last long.
Michael wiped his mouth with the small paper napkin and put his empty can on the clean plate. “That sucked and was great all at the same time.”
She took both plates back to the vanity. “That’s also true.” As she turned back to him, she was caught completely by surprise by an enormous belch. She felt her cheeks heat as she put her hand to her mouth.
Michael grinned as if he’d just seen Santa.
“I’m glad my humiliation pleases you so much.”
“Hey, tit for tat.”
“I suppose so,” she said. “It’s weird not being able to retreat.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“Not right now, but I did about twenty seconds ago.”
“You clearly never had a brother.”
She shook her head. “I had Lisa. Then Sara. That’s it.”
“That sounds pretty good to me.”
Tate had a rush of anticipation for what the night would hold as she walked back to the bed. She sat next to him and touched his thigh. “There’s no Sara in your life?”
“Nope. I had some good friends in the Army. But that’s over.”
“Are you sure your friends are over? Or are you just embarrassed?”
“I’m sure. They’re embarrassed, and that doesn’t tend to work with us military types. It’s easiest for everyone if I stay under the radar.”
“I hope you make more friends after this is over. Without Sara…”
“Hey,” he said. “Sara.”
“You can’t have her. She’s mine.”
“Oh.”
“Not that way. Jeez, are all men so predictable?”
“Yes.”
She smiled at him and he smiled back. She wasn’t going to waste any more time doubting her decision. After all, she’d chosen life.
“ED? JAZZ?” MICHAEL banged on the door a couple more times, then stepped back as he heard the lock click.
“What are you banging for?”
“I need to speak to Ed.”
“He’s busy.”
“I’m sure he is. But I need to speak to him.”
Jazz looked behind him, then sighed. “Wait.” He shut and locked the door.
Michael smiled at Tate as he waited, trying to make her see that this meeting was in her best interest, but she didn’t look persuaded. All he could do was tell her the truth.
The lock clicked once more and the door opened just a bit.
“Turn around and give me your wrists.”
Michael just wanted to talk to Ed, so he made no noises. It was logical that they’d given up on handcuffs with him, but damn, they could have used softer rope.
Jazz tied him up tighter than a turkey, then held his gun on him as he turned. “Don’t do anything funny.”
“I’m serious as a heart attack,” Michael said.
Ed Martini was sitting in his favorite chair. Charlie looked even worse than he had before, and it made Michael wonder if it was strictly withdrawal that had him so torn up.
“What do you want?” Martini asked.
“She needs clothes.”
Ed laughed. “I need more hair.”
“If you’re taking her to the bank, she needs to look like she’s there legitimately. She can’t do that in the clothes she has.”
Ed looked at Jazz, his smile fading, then back at Michael. “What kind of clothes?”
“She’ll make a list. With sizes and designers.”
“You knock again, hand the list to Jazz.”
“When?”
“Tonight. And don’t get any ideas about doing something while we’re docked. I’ve already decided that whenever this boat stops, you’re going to be inconvenienced. Or, if you don’t stay where I put you, dead.”
“Got it.”
“Do the list.”
Michael turned, then stopped. “I’m going to ask for a couple of things for myself.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to make her regret her feelings about me. So I need to look nice. Smell nice.”
“Fine.”
“We’d both appreciate some more to eat. And to drink.”
Ed sighed. “Want a fucking massage while we’re at it?”
Michael turned. “You need her. You need me. We’re not asking for anything outrageous.”
“Get the hell out of here,” Ed said, his cheeks red, his eyebrows lowered.
Jazz shoved him in the back with the barrel of his gun, then made him stand at the doorway to the cabin while he undid the ropes. A second shove, and the door clicked shut.
Michael rubbed his wrists as he moved toward Tate, who was standing at the porthole, staring out at the dark night.
“Can you see anything?”
“No, not really. But it beats staring at the wallpaper,” she said, “or the vanity or the dresser or the bathroom.”
He touched the small of her back. “I need you to make a list of clothes and whatever. Don’t skimp and be very specific. If you want a certain brand, ask for it. Clothes you’d wear on holiday, knowing you’d be going to your bank.”
She leaned back into his hand. “Makeup and hair, too?”
“I’m pretty sure we’re going to dock in Miami or the Keys, so the shopping won’t be an issue. Say what you need. He doesn’t care if he spends twenty grand of the ransom if it means he gets the big prize.”
She didn’t say anything, but when she turned, she kissed him. Not too long, not too deep. A hint of things to come.
FORTY MINUTES AFTER Jazz came for her very complete and somewhat embarrassing list, there was another knock. Michael sent her to the far side of the room before he opened the door. It was Jazz again, with a tray. Michael took it; Jazz locked up behind him.
Michael put the tray on the bed, and when she registered what Jazz had brought, she looked at Michael with new respect. “Lobster tails and wine?”
“It helps to be the squeaky wheel,” he said.
“A tip to file for future use.”
“Want to talk or eat?”
She smiled as they crawled up on the bed together. It was odd to eat here, to sit next to Michael, to be a prisoner with such good wine. Everything felt off, but not in the way she’d expected.
Her fear remained, pulsing in her bloodstream, but somehow she still could function. Was this what Dr. Bay had wanted for her? Not the real kidnapping but this functional panic, this total awareness that she could die any moment, which made every nondeath moment something extraordinary?
“Hey,” he said.
She realized she’d been looking his way-staring, really-but not seeing him. Quickly she averted her gaze. “Sorry.”
“No need. I was just wondering what was going on in there.”
“Random thoughts. I really like this wine.”
“Those weren’t food-review thoughts,” he said, then shook his head. “It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me. None of my business.”
“It’s okay. I was thinking about my ability to talk. To eat, to smile, to sleep. I’d never have guessed.”
“We’re pretty adaptable creatures.”
“Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible idea to be kidnapped. Well, not by these louts but by someone safe.”
His expression darkened. “No, it wasn’t a good idea. None of this was. There was no way you should have been exposed to the possibility of danger.”
“No? The only way to avoid it was to trade my life for safety. You think it was worth it?”
He looked at the dresser. “There had to be another way.”
“Michael…” She put her glass down on the tray. “I wanted to ask you out-well, in-for five and a half months. I’m not talking about wanting to seduce you, I’m talking about dinner. A drink. I was frozen. My fear had leached into every single area of my life. From work to friends to dating. I was as much a prisoner in my apartment and that damn limo as I am here.”
His gaze had come back to her face, to her eyes. She was glad there were no sunglasses. Just his vivid, open stare. Finally, after a long while, he blinked. Frowned. “You didn’t want to seduce me?”
She laughed as she felt her face heat with a blush. He didn’t shift his gaze, not even a bit, and every instinct told her to look away. But she was through being scared. At least of Michael.
13
HER FACE CAME ALIVE with her blush. It made her look young, innocent. She was, in fact, both of those things, but in her day-to-day life where she was the administrator of millions of dollars, where she was William Baxter’s only daughter-where she was terrified from morning till night-she looked and acted much older, and her innocence hid behind a mask of tension.
She kept wanting to look away, but every time her gaze skittered, she forced herself to stay with him. The moments ticked on, marked by the sounds of their breaths, the motion of the boat. He waited as patiently as possible for Tate to relax, and finally she did.
It was eventually okay to do what he’d wanted to for a long time. He leaned in, slowly so she’d have time to adjust or, if she chose, to stop him. Her eyes stayed open until her breath, fruity with wine, brushed his mouth.
Only then did he close his own eyes as he touched his lips to hers. Again he had to wait, to let her adjust, which wasn’t easy. His body urged him to take her, to toss the trays on the floor and do every kind of wicked thing to her. But his body wasn’t in control. Not this time.
