Freefall (No)

by Jill Sorenson

  He liked that, her coming with his name on her lips.

  With a possessive growl, he rolled on top of her and thrust as deep as he could get, burying himself to the hilt. He stopped thinking about her pleasure and took his own, slamming into her, pounding her against the mattress. She twined her arms around his neck and dug her nails into his shoulders, crying out his name again. He was only vaguely aware that he was giving her what she wanted, a hard fuck to drive the pain away.

  He let out a hoarse yell, his head thrown back and his legs locked. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, leaving his body sated and his mind blank.

  When it was over, he got up to dispose of the condom. She was already dozing by the time he returned. He pulled her into his arms, her back to his front, and covered their naked bodies with a sheet.

  As he drifted off, he acknowledged that he’d just had the best sex of his life. Being inside her fulfilled him like nothing else. But there was unfinished business between them, emotions to sort through. He hadn’t told her he’d recovered his memory. He wasn’t sure how he felt. He only knew that he wanted more from her than a sexual relationship.

  Satisfying her physically wasn’t enough.

  * * *

  AS SOON AS Javier’s boss was gone, Faith leaped to her feet.

  She crossed the room quickly, testing the door. It was locked from the outside.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, searching the interior. There were no windows, only slim air-conditioning vents.

  Hunger drew her to the table. She shoved a handful of cheese and crackers into her mouth, continuing her search. The room yielded no escape routes or impromptu weapons. There wasn’t even any silverware with the tray. The only furniture besides the bed and table was a soft-upholstered chair.

  She sat down and finished the food, glum. After she’d eaten her fill, she used the bathroom. It was a narrow space with an oval mirror, an empty sink cabinet and a shower stall. A single towel hung on the rack.

  Javier’s boss had called her beautiful, but she’d never looked so hideous in her life. Her clothes were gross. She had scratches all over her arms, and a few on her face. The mosquito bump was hardly noticeable among the dirt streaks.

  With a grimace, she removed her soiled garments, leaving them in a pile on the floor. She turned on the water and stepped into the shower stall. The warm spray soaked her scalp and cascaded down her shoulders, soothing her aching muscles. She scrubbed every inch of her body and shampooed her hair twice.

  When she came out, she felt like a new woman. Stronger, more alert. While she was drying her hair, she noticed the toilet tank. She wrapped the damp towel around her body and removed the porcelain cover, setting it on the sink. It was too awkward to be a good bludgeoning tool, but she could break it. She could also break the mirror. Fashioning a weapon didn’t appeal to her as much as finding a way out, however.

  Inside the tank, there was a float with a metal rod. Jackpot.

  She took the mechanism apart, with some difficulty. When she’d separated the rod from the float, she approached the door. Although the thin metal fit in the keyhole, it wasn’t very maneuverable. She didn’t know how to pick a lock. For the next hour, she tried anyway, poking and prodding until her shoulders sagged with fatigue.

  “Fuck,” she yelled, tossing the useless rod aside in frustration. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at it.

  She was glad her sister had escaped—assuming that was true—but Faith worried that Hope was still in danger. Javier’s boss had someone on his payroll in the park. Her sister might have killed Martin and gotten away, but she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Neither was Javier, although his welfare concerned her less.

  He’d brought this on himself.

  Brushing the tears from her cheeks, she picked up the metal rod and crawled into bed, stashing it under the pillows. She tucked the blanket around her body and closed her eyes, trying to get some rest.

  She must have drifted off, because the next thing she knew, a man was in the room, standing beside the bed.

  Gasping, she reached under the pillow.

  Nick held up the metal rod. “Looking for this?”

  Faith swallowed, her heart pounding with panic. The towel around her body had come loose while she slept. With the sheet slipping off her shoulder, threatening to expose her breasts, she felt intensely vulnerable.

  Although he had to be aware of her nudity, his gaze didn’t wander south. He set the weapon on the table behind him. His boss must have allowed him to shower and change clothes. Clean, he looked only slightly more civilized. His left brow was bandaged, and there was a disturbing...deadness...in his eyes. His flat expression reminded her of Javier. Nick resembled the darker side of him, the robotic fighting machine.

  They were both killers.

  “I’ve been told to rape you,” he said, matter-of-fact.

  She recoiled in horror, clutching the sheet to her chest.

  “This room has video cameras, but no audio, so it only has to look real. If you put on a good show, I won’t really have to do it. The more you fight, the better.” He paused, studying her. “Do you understand?”

  Everything he said after “rape” was lost.

  That wasn’t going to happen. Never again.

  No longer concerned with modesty, she scrambled off the side of the bed and ran toward the bathroom. She planned to pick up the porcelain tank cover and smash him upside the head with it.

  She never got there.

  He vaulted across the mattress and caught her easily, locking his arm around her waist. “Good,” he said in her ear, as if she was doing something right. Then he shoved her face-down on the bed and unfastened his pants.

  She screamed, kicking her legs and flailing her arms wildly. Her foot glanced off his upper thigh. Although she doubted she’d hurt him, he doubled over with a low grunt. When she kicked again, he grasped her ankle, holding it prisoner.

  She twisted out of his grip and came up swinging. Almost by accident, she punched him in the nose.

  That blow connected better than the first, but his surprised laugh wasn’t encouraging. “Wildcat,” he muttered, tugging off his shirt. He had a lean physique, nothing special, but the sight of his bare chest and open fly terrified her.

  She scooted backward, toward the other side of the bed. Sliding off the edge, she grabbed the food tray and chucked it at him like a Frisbee.

  He ducked easily.

  Out of options, she stared at him, her heart racing. He came forward in slow steps. When his eyes traveled down her body, lingering between her legs, she made a break for it. He grabbed her by the hair and threw her down on the bed again. This time, he climbed on top of her, using his weight to hold her prisoner.

  “Scream,” he said, tightening his fist in her hair.

  She screamed.

  He relaxed his grip, allowing her some freedom of movement. She elbowed him in the ribs as hard as she could.

  The kick hadn’t slowed him down, and he’d laughed at her punch, but this blow actually caused him pain. He fell over on his side, groaning. She grabbed a pillow and went on the offensive, trying to smother him.

  He ripped the pillow away from her and tossed it aside. Before she knew it, he’d flipped her onto her back. He seemed impressed by her evasive maneuvers, but not worried that she’d get away. It was almost as if he admired her for giving him trouble.

  She slapped his smug face.

  With a low growl, he pushed her arms over her head, trapping her wrists with one hand. He was breathing hard now, no longer amused or patronizing. Using his knee, he forced her legs apart.

  She screamed again. “No!”

  In the back of her mind, she remembered this moment with Brett. This awful, soul-wrenching moment. Reducing her to nothingness.

  Nick freed his penis with one hand and positioned it against her. His first thrust didn’t find her opening. Neither did the next, or the next. She twisted her arms and bucked her hips, trying to dislodge him. He
continued to go at her like a clueless teenager. On some level, she realized that this was his idea of pretending.

  Tears leaked from her eyes, and she begged him to stop. Because it felt real.

  * * *

  FOR JAVIER, the night was endless.

  He’d been interrogated, beaten, half-drowned and strapped to a chair. One of his eyes was swollen shut. His head ached and his injured shoulder throbbed. Gonzales kept asking him where Alexia was. As if he didn’t know.

  “Just kill me,” he groaned, praying for oblivion.

  Finally Gonzales changed tactics. “Let’s talk about the girl you came with,” he said. “Did the two of you have an arrangement?”

  “No.”

  Javier had already told Gonzales about the plane crash, which had been an accident, and the shoot-out with the pilot, which he took full responsibility for. There was no way he could have enlisted Faith’s help beforehand.

  “Don’t lie to me, cabrón. I know you were planning to leave.”

  He didn’t respond.

  They were in a basic white room, probably underground. Other than two chairs, a rectangular table and a large flat-screen television, the space was empty. Gonzales picked up a remote control and turned on the screen.

  Faith was lying on a bed, her hands and ankles bound. Her gag had become a blindfold. Javier could see the pulse flutter at the base of her throat as a man reached out to her. It was Gonzales.

  “This was shot earlier,” Gonzales said, fast-forwarding.

  She tossed water in his face and they had a rapid conversation. At one point, he touched her cheek. Gonzales paused the video there, glancing at Javier for a reaction. Javier didn’t give him the satisfaction.

  He skipped through the next few minutes of Faith tearing apart the room. She sat down to eat and then headed to the bathroom, where there was another camera. The angle switched suddenly, and her body was a rainy blur behind a frosted glass shower door. When she stepped out of the stall to dry off, Gonzales reduced the speed to slow motion. The footage left nothing to the imagination.

  Javier’s muscles tensed with fury. He hadn’t thought it was possible to hate Gonzales more than he had before.

  Gonzales pressed a button to show a different feed. “This is live.”

  Faith was sleeping in a bed. The sheets were tucked under her arms, revealing a portion of her slender back. When Nick entered the room, Javier saw red. “I’ll fucking kill you,” he said, tugging at his tied wrists. The chair scraped across the tile floor, shuddering from the force of his struggle.

  “Relax,” Gonzales said. “She looks like the type of woman who enjoys rough play. Alexia did.”

  “Hijo de puta,” he growled, unable to take his eyes off Faith. As soon as she woke up, she tried to flee. Nick chased her across the room and threw her down on the bed. He got right to business, unfastening his pants.

  Javier had been at his breaking point since Gonzales killed Alexia. Witnessing Faith’s attack pushed him right over the edge. Although Alexia hadn’t deserved to die, she was far from innocent. She’d sought out dangerous, powerful men and slept her way to the top. Her family had cartel connections. She’d known what kind of monster she was marrying.

  Faith’s situation was different. She hadn’t courted danger. Javier had brought this violence to her, and he was devastated by the result. He might as well be in the room instead of Nick, because he’d set these events in motion.

  “Let her go,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll do whatever you want!”

  Gonzales continued to watch the scene unfold. Faith managed to hit Nick a few times, but only because he let her. If anyone enjoyed rough play, it was him.

  “I’ll talk,” he promised.

  Nick stopped toying with Faith and held her trapped underneath him. He shoved her legs apart and positioned himself against her.

  “Please,” he roared, tears of rage filling his eyes.

  Gonzales took a cell phone out of his pocket and pressed a button. “Ya,” he said.

  Enough.

  Nick removed himself from her at once. While he stood by the bed, zipping up his fly, Faith curled up into a little ball, sobbing.

  Javier was going to kill him. He was going to kill Gonzales, too. Tamping down his bloodlust, for now, he pulled his watery gaze from the screen. “I wasn’t sleeping with Alexia. She approached me once. I refused her.”

  “When?”

  He paused, reluctant to go into detail. “On your wedding day.”

  Gonzales must have already known that, because his reaction was sedate. “I was told otherwise.”

  “By who?”

  “Martin. He said you were meeting her in private.”

  “He’s a fucking liar.”

  “So are you.”

  “Where’s his proof?”

  Gonzales didn’t have any. If he’d seen photographic evidence of this alleged affair, Javier would’ve been dead six months ago. “There are pictures of her going into a motel room, but none of the man inside.”

  “Bring Martin in here.”

  “I can’t. One of the park rangers killed him.”

  “Ask Nick. He knows something.”

  Gonzales spoke into the phone again. “Ven.”

  When Nick joined them, his neck was flushed. He had a flesh-colored bandage on his eyebrow and Faith’s slap mark on his face. It turned Javier’s stomach just to look at him. “Did you ever see me with Alexia?”

  He hesitated, but only for a second. “No.”

  “Martin was the one sleeping with her,” Javier said, making an educated guess. “You ordered him to follow her, or maybe you ordered him to kill her.”

  Gonzales didn’t confirm or deny the charge.

  “She seduced him to survive.”

  “Is that true?” Gonzales asked Nick.

  “I have no idea,” Nick said, dumbfounded. “He didn’t confide in me. I would have come straight to you with information like that.”

  “Where is she?” Gonzales yelled, clenching his hands into fists.

  “I don’t know,” Javier said.

  “Why did you shoot my pilot and run, if not to reunite with her?”

  “I ran because I wanted out, and I shot the pilot because he got in the way.” Javier realized that they’d both been wrong. Gonzales hadn’t killed Alexia. He’d tried to, and she’d escaped. “This whole time, I thought she was dead. You let everyone believe that because you were too proud to admit she left you.”

  And now the only man who knew the truth was gone.

  “Cara de mierda,” Gonzales roared, upending the table. He grabbed the only empty chair and threw it across the room. Alexia had cheated on him and lived, robbing him of the satisfaction of punishing her.

  After a few moments of cursing and kicking the chair around, Gonzales quieted. There was nothing left to say.

  “What should I do with the girl?” Nick asked.

  Gonzales studied Javier, his nostrils flaring. He couldn’t reach Alexia or Martin, but he wanted to make someone pay. “Get rid of her.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HOPE WOKE AT dawn.

  Her muscles were stiff, but she felt alert and well rested. Despite her fears about Faith, she’d fallen asleep easily. Sam had screwed her into oblivion.

  He was good at that.

  She sat up, raking a hand through her mussed hair. He was sprawled out on his back beside her, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. The sight of his peaceful slumber made her heart swell with emotion. With his mouth relaxed, and his forehead smooth of worry lines, he looked younger.

  The sheet rode low at his waist, tangling around one leg. His other leg was bent at the knee, naked and exposed. He had plenty of muscle, but not quite enough fat. His body was sharp-edged and rawboned, all cord and sinew.

  Her eyes wandered south, between his legs, to the only soft place on him. The only hint of vulnerability, other than his face. Most of his pubic hair was showing above the thin s
heet. She could see his size and shape beneath it.

  She thought about tugging the expensive cotton down and rousing him with her mouth. The idea made her pulse throb and her sex tingle with anticipation. She moistened her lips, fantasizing about pressing kisses along his flat stomach and delineated hip.

  He’d groan and lace his hand through her hair, murmuring...

  Another woman’s name.

  Hope pulled her gaze away from him, her throat tight. She slid off the edge of the bed and gathered her clothes, tiptoeing into the bathroom. As soon as she was dressed, she snuck out into the hall, careful not to wake him.

  She couldn’t make the mistake of sleeping with him again. It hurt too much. If she didn’t break the cycle of getting involved with the wrong men, she’d never find happiness. She’d never start a family.

  Her cell phone showed a few messages, but no news about Faith. She’d called her parents yesterday evening to explain the situation to them. They’d wanted to start driving from Ojai last night, but she convinced them to wait until morning. Although she appreciated their support, there was nothing they could do to help.

  After grabbing a pastry and a coffee in the lobby, she climbed into her Jeep. Faith’s disappearance had sunk in. Hope was clearheaded now, and more determined to find her sister. Yesterday, she’d been a mess. The interrogation had gone on for hours, giving her no opportunity to form her own questions.

  Hope wasn’t familiar with large-scale investigations, but the entire process had seemed arduous and chaotic. Dixon had barely made an appearance.

  What had Owen been doing alone on the trail, anyway? All of the other rangers had been working with teams of sheriff’s deputies.

  She took a sip of coffee, pondering. Although she wasn’t supposed to be on duty, it couldn’t hurt to poke around. Owen was probably in park housing, asleep. As she drove toward the employee cabins, her mind raced with possibilities. The drug smugglers had been able to respond to her radio transmissions. Maybe they had a partner in local law enforcement or among Long Pine’s residents.