Pure Dynamite

by Lauren Bach

  He eyed her mouth, tried to analyze what about it fascinated him. It had to be those full, pouty lips. They looked swollen. Sexy. Just begging for a kiss.

  His gaze drifted lower. He remembered the body search, how he'd tried to keep it impersonal. Hard to do when she was one hundred percent female: lush and curved in all the right places. The memory made Adam grow hard. Not good.

  He tried to think of willing females who'd be available when this assignment wrapped. Several names came to mind; women who thought of him only in sexual terms. Like Lizzy Yale.

  Lizzy had lived next door when Adam was in high school. She knew what he endured at home, had called the police once when his father had been on a particularly vicious rampage. She brought flowers to the hospital afterwards.

  Lizzy was twice his age, divorced a handful of times. She was also the horniest woman Adam had ever met. Or at least that was how he'd thought of her when he was sixteen. Lizzy had let him crash on her couch a few times. Until she walked in on him in the bathroom one day. He'd been naked and she'd seen it all. Especially the bruises and scars he tried hard to hide.

  But Lizzy had focused on his groin, had boldly touched him, cupped him. There. Told him that with his face and his penis no woman would care about anything else. "And unlike love, great sex will never break your heart." Her motto. Then she'd taken him to bed and taught him a thing or two about toe curling.

  For a time that had been enough. Raw sex. Physical gratification. Lizzy had been right. Most women didn't care about anything else. When he was clothed, he looked fine and they clamored to be at his side. When he was naked they turned their heads and clamored for him to get inside. He obliged.

  He blinked purposely squashing those memories. He'd long ago given up his libidinous ways. So why was it just now dawning on him that he'd also given up the dream of finding someone who'd care for all of him?

  Morning turned to early afternoon. Except for the hum of soft rain, and Lyle's snoring, the barn remained quiet. No outside noise reached Renata's ears. No cars. No planes. It was as if the world beyond had ceased to exist.

  She kept expecting—hoping—that the doors would be thrown open as a SWAT team swept in and rescued her. It never happened. Minutes seemed to tick forward, then skip backward, as if time were as much a hostage as she.

  It was impossible to close her eyes. She worried that in sleep she might miss an opportunity for escape.

  Bored she studied Adam as he slept. Grudgingly she admitted the man was in top physical condition. Even relaxed his arms bulged and his abs rippled. That type of physique was only acquired with serious weight lifting, which he'd probably had plenty of time to do in prison.

  A giant of a man, he was so tall he barely had room to lean back in the car. As it was, his head was tilted at an awkward angle against the door frame. The thought that he'd have a sore neck when he awoke gave her a small amount of comfort.

  She started to turn away when her eye caught his denim-clad leg. Outlined perfectly in his pocket, was the handcuff key. Within reach, yet unattainable. She sighed wished she had the nerve to go for it. But those jeans were just a little too tight; the key a little too close to that bulge beneath his fly.

  She averted her eyes and fumbled with the cuffs, testing them. She squeezed her fingers together. If she could just compress her knuckles slightly, slip her hand free—

  She sensed Adam's eyes were open and looked up. The man was uncanny. He never said anything, just shook his head and went back to sleep. Damn him.

  Angry and frustrated, Renata leaned back, determined to come up with a plan.

  At some point she must have drifted off, because when she awoke, Adam was gone. Disoriented, she studied the patches of light shifting between boards. Judging by the shadows, it had to be late afternoon. She couldn't have slept more than an hour or two. Had they left her?

  She scrambled to sit up.

  "Relax, doll." Lyle's voice drifted across the seat. "I'm still here. Care to join me?"

  "Drop dead."

  Lyle coughed. "Your big, bad savior ain't here, so I suggest you watch your smart mouth."

  "Where's—"

  At that moment one of the barn doors opened and Adam stepped inside. Relief flashed over her.

  "Speak of the devil," Lyle snorted. "Actually, his timing's perfect. I've got to piss. Bad."

  Lyle started complaining as soon as Adam drew close. Adam helped him outside, then returned and unfastened the handcuffs.

  Renata rubbed her wrists, her arms tingling from poor circulation. "Maybe next time you could leave them a bit looser."

  "Sore?"

  At her nod, he grasped her wrists and straightened her arms before lightly pressing his fingers into her forearms. The discomfort disappeared as he worked the flesh.

  She marveled at how he knew which muscles were most tense and where to rub to ease the cramping. Was that because he'd spent so much time in handcuffs himself?

  He dropped her wrists and stepped away. "The rain's stopped and we'll be leaving soon. So I'll take you outside now."

  Renata would have loved to refuse his offer ... but she couldn't.

  Outside, the sun was getting ready to slip behind the trees, the sky muddy with clouds that promised more rain. It was hard to believe an entire day had passed. Once again Adam gave her privacy to relieve herself, while he remained nearby. His actions irritated her. Thoughtful or cruel, everything this man did would be wrong as long as he held her against her will.

  Back inside the barn, he tossed her a bottle of water and another pack of crackers. For a moment, she debated refusing the food simply to exercise her right to defy him. Except that she knew her body needed every bit of fuel she could get. If the opportunity to run arose, she had to be ready.

  Adam spread a map out on the hood of the car, studied it intently. He refolded it and turned to her. "You need to check Lyle before we hit the road. We'll be driving all night again."

  She bristled over being given orders. "How much longer do you intend to keep me?"

  "I haven't decided."

  "That's not an answer—"

  He cut her off and moved away. "You're alive. And uninjured. Like I promised. Some days, that's as good as it gets."

  "At least tell me where we're going," she called after him.

  Lyle began loosening his pants. "If you're real nice, maybe I'll tell you where we're headed."

  "I don't want to know that badly"

  "Snooty bitch."

  Disregarding him, she took his vital signs and changed the bandages. Once again the gauze was saturated with fresh blood.

  "This isn't good."

  "No shit. But we both know there's not much you can do," Lyle's lip curled. "My brother will get me in to see a real doctor, so just throw a new bandage on it for now."

  Renata had been about to snap back when Adam rejoined them, a serious look on his face.

  "We need to hurry. I just heard on the radio that there are flood watches and tornado warnings all along the east coast. It'll be a bad night for driving."

  Renata prayed for rain. Lots of it. In hopes it would slow them down enough to let the police catch up.

  At first it seemed the weather couldn't make up its mind. Rain sputtered intermittently, then gradually grew steady and heavy. She fought to remain awake, casting her eyes to the side of the road when the hypnotic sweep of the windshield wipers made her eyelids feel they had weights attached.

  Over and over, her thoughts returned to the clinic back in Durham. Had anyone discovered her missing? Noticed her briefcase still in her office? Or found clues in the exam room? She had purposely stuffed a section of bloody cloth in the supply drawer. Would someone recognize it as a clue and call the police?

  Neither man had attempted to avoid leaving fingerprints behind. Arrogance or carelessness? She'd bet on the former. At least it wouldn't take the police long to confirm who had abducted her.

  She bit her lip, worrying again about how her mother would rea
ct to the news. Her older sister and brother lived in Denver, so they'd be there for her. But Renata knew her mother; she'd make herself sick imagining the worst.

  They had left Virginia, skipping across Maryland before entering Pennsylvania. It was a deceptive route; she knew their ultimate destination was West Virginia. But their route was convoluted because they bypassed most towns.

  She watched Adam in her peripheral vision. Each time a car went by, his eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. Please be a cop, became her silent mantra.

  They rounded yet another curve and this time, just a short distance ahead she spotted flashing red and blue lights. The road was blocked by a patrol car.

  Renata leaned forward in disbelief, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Finally!"

  Adam hit the brakes. The car hydroplaned slightly on the slick roads as he slowed and pulled onto the shoulder.

  He pointed to the luminous sign beyond the patrol car: bridge out.

  "Don't get your hopes up. Rain's washed out the bridge. We have to turn around." He reached over and unfastened her seat belt. "But just as a precaution, get down on the floorboard."

  Adam put the car in reverse as a slicker-clad officer climbed out of the patrol car. Ducking his head against the wind and rain, he waved a flashlight as he made his way toward their car.

  The cop probably wanted nothing more than to advise them which way to detour, but Adam couldn't let him near the car. If he recognized them, or swept his flashlight inside and saw Renata in handcuffs and an injured man hooked up to an IV, it was over.

  Adam hit the gas. With a squeal of tires, he reversed, speeding backwards down the road before spinning into a three-point turn.

  In the rearview mirror he saw the cop pivot and shine his light at the rear of the car, trying to get the tag number. Adam sped off, churning up mud.

  Seconds later, flashing lights appeared on the horizon behind them. He floored it, grateful for the Buick's powerful V-8 engine and a full tank of gas.

  With luck he could outrun the patrol car. But outrunning the radio was another story. The cop was undoubtedly broadcasting their location and would soon have help. The dark, the rain, and the fact that Adam was unfamiliar with the roads would add to the cop's advantage and erode their slight head start.

  He spotted a sign, a junction for a main highway he was vaguely familiar with. Increasing his speed, he turned. The road was busier than he liked but he didn't dare cut down some dirt road and risk a dead end. He also needed help.

  "Lyle!"

  The younger man didn't respond.

  "Damn it, wake up!"

  "He took more painkillers," Renata said. "Even if he comes to, I doubt he'll be much help."

  Adam glanced at her, then shoved the map and flashlight across the seat. "Fine. If you want to live, find a way to get us out of here!"

  Chapter Eight

  Adam thought he had lost the cop. Then he spotted the telltale flash of lights behind them. He punched it, eager to increase their lead.

  "Well?" he prompted Renata.

  "Turn left on Highway 56 and follow it to Highway 96," she said. "It will take us south."

  At the intersection, Adam turned sharply, felt the tires lose traction and become useless against the wet pavement. The car skidded started to spin. "Hold on."

  Steering into the slide, he regained control, but instead of slowing he shot straight ahead the gas pedal floored.

  He spared a glance at Renata, saw her huddled on the floor, her knuckles bloodless from gripping the flashlight. He knew she was terrified yet there was nothing he could do to reassure her.

  He backed off the gas slightly and grabbed the flashlight. "You can get up now."

  She awkwardly climbed back into the seat. "Damn you, Adam! You could have killed us driving like that!"

  It was the first time she'd said his name aloud. That she'd used it swearing didn't bother him; it wasn't his real name. Still it had been a moment of personal connection. A lost moment.

  "I had the car under control the entire time." Hereached over to refasten her seat belt and had to resist the urge to touch her cheek.

  "Does the term 'too fast for conditions' mean anything?"

  Her voice quavered, husky from restraint. Adam knew she covered her fear with anger. She'd been pushed beyond a reasonable point numerous times.

  He squeezed her fingers briefly, released them. "Keep the map handy. The weather is getting worse and we have to get off the road as soon as possible. That means I'll need to find a short cut to our next stop."

  That he even bothered explaining surprised Renata. He didn't have to. Even more surprising was the way he'd brushed her hand as if offering silent comfort. It was one more clue that in small ways, perhaps even subconsciously, Adam seemed concerned about her well-being. She needed to play on that. Exploit—encourage even—any sign of softening.

  "Where are we headed?" she asked. "And I'll start checking for alternate routes."

  "You're volunteering to help?"

  She didn't miss the sarcasm. "Actually, I'm helping myself. I'd rather look now instead of when we're being pursued. And with Lyle passed out, I'm your only navigator."

  For a moment Adam remained quiet. Then he handed over the flashlight again.

  "I need to end up on Highway 150, in the Yew Mountains."

  "Then where?"

  "The other roads won't be listed. Just get me to Highway 150. And we have to avoid all cities, so think rural."

  She studied the West Virginia map, first foundwhere they were headed. After a few minutes, she rattled off an alternate route.

  Adam slowed not fully trusting her. "Show me."

  Turning the map toward him, she held the flashlight and pointed to the route. He studied it, only taking his eyes from the road for brief seconds.

  "Thanks," he said finally. "It'll take us a few hours to get there. Why don't you try to grab some shut- eye?"

  She shook her head. "I'm used to not sleeping."

  "In that case, you can talk to me. Keep me awake."

  "If you're tired, pull over."

  He laughed. "Nice try. Actually, I'm curious why you pursued medicine. Was your father a doctor and you decided to follow in his footsteps?"

  Renata's first thought was to not answer. Then she remembered her earlier resolve to draw Adam out. This was an opportunity to build a bond... or perhaps distract him while the police caught up.

  Still, she chose her words carefully. "My father was an auto mechanic. He died of congestive heart failure after ignoring chest pains he thought were indigestion. I was only two."

  "You were an only child?"

  "No. I have an older sister and brother."

  "It must have been difficult for your mother, being left to raise three kids by herself."

  "She told me she got through it because she simply didn't have time to grieve. She juggled three jobs and three children."

  "That had to be tough, too."

  Tough? Renata remembered living in their car after they lost their Chicago home. From there they moved to a one-room apartment in a neighborhood so bad she wasn't allowed outside.

  "So was it your father's untimely death that prompted you to become a doctor?" he asked.

  "My best friend died from an asthma attack when we were in junior high. By the time they got her to a hospital it was too late." While she didn't remember her father, she did recall the pain of losing her friend and the helpless feeling of not knowing what to do.

  She glanced at Adam, wanting to change the subject. "What about you?"

  "Me?" He checked the road behind them. "As in, what did my father do? Or why did I decide to pursue a life in crime?"

  "Both."

  "My father was a world-class bastard. He ran my mother off when I was eight. I never forgave her for leaving me behind."

  Renata detected a chilling change in his voice. "Your father was abusive?"

  "And alcoholic. I grew up in the slums. A perfect childhood for a prospective c
riminal, wouldn't you say?"

  "Perhaps. It's also an overused cop-out for not taking responsibility as an adult, for your actions. Few people are truly unable to distinguish wrong from right, regardless of their upbringing. And nothing negates the ability to choose a better life."

  "You are right."

  Once again he surprised her. "It's not too late for you," she rushed on. "You could change. It's apparent you're well educated, if not formally, then self- taught—"

  "None of which matters if I go back to prison." He pointed to a road sign. "And we'll have to continue the pop psychology quiz later. Highway 96 is two miles ahead. Tell me again where we go from there."

  * * *

  They didn't talk anymore as the weather grew worse, the rain blinding. Twice they were forced to find new routes because of flooded roads. Lyle remained asleep.

  The sky was starting to lighten in the east when Adam finally stopped at a gated road leading onto private property. The road was muddy, barely passable, and it ended abruptly at the crest of a hill amid a stand of pine trees.

  He grabbed the flashlight. "There's supposed to be a cabin here. I'll be right back." Tugging his collar up, he climbed out.

  From the back seat, Lyle stirred. "Is he gone?"

  She turned, cautiously watching over her shoulder. "He'll be right back."

  Lyle groaned coughed. "Christ! Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for him because he had a rough childhood. Well, I did too, you know. How about some pity for me?"

  Renata didn't respond, uncertain of his mood. The last time he'd grabbed her, he'd been too weak to do more than pull her hair. This time though, she knew to stay out of his reach.

  "I kept waiting for him to tell you what happened to his last girlfriend," Lyle continued. "She disappeared you know. They're calling her number seven. Want to know why? Huh? Do you?"

  "No. I don't."

  "Aww, come on. Surely you've wondered about those six scars on his chest?"

  "I haven't seen his chest or his scars!"

  "Yeah, right," Lyle sneered. "Actually, they're notches. One for each person he's killed."