Taken and Tamed (3 page)

She smiled again, that warm smile designed to put him at ease. “No one can be comfortable if they’re worried about hearing their own words in their own voice used against them at some point. But I would like to make sure I get your story right for our audience. Would it be okay with you if I take a few notes while we chat? I’ll be happy to let you read them afterwards.” She met his eyes squarely, waiting for another nod before rummaging in her huge bag for a notebook and pen.

He had to admire the care with which she chose her words. Making them sound like a team while appealing to his vanity with the ‘our audience’ remark. She’d definitely done her homework, probably already pegged him as a Class Three. He’d read the profilers. Class Three included serial killers like Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy. Charming, witty, even outgoing—and completely egocentric, lacking both empathy and guilt.

“Where are you from originally?”

“I grew up in Ohio.”

“I’ve been to Ohio. Cows and cornfields. That must have been boring. What did you do for fun?”

“Tortured the neighborhood pets.”

She put down her pen. “I have an excellent bullshit meter, Zander, and I’m sure you do too. Right now mine is clanging so loud I’m not going to be able to hear anything else you say. So I’ll tell you what—how about if we make a deal? There’s got to be some payoff here for you as well as for me. What if we make this fun—turn it into a little game and see who goes the longest? Like truth or dare. You ask me a question and I’ll answer. If you think I’ve answered honestly, then I’ve earned the right to ask you a question and get an honest answer. Does that sound fair?”

No doubt about it. She
was
good. Appealing to his feeling of superiority, giving him the opportunity to pit his intellectual skill against hers. Seeing which of them could delve deeper into the psyche of the other, carving out the emotional entrails of their opponent and spreading them out on the table.

He smiled again, but the smile never reached his eyes. “So we both agree to take turns answering each other’s questions. Honestly. The game stops if one of us even thinks the other is lying. And I go first. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, Cass. You’ve got yourself a deal.” He was silent for a moment, allowing the suspense to build. “Tell me—when’s the last time some guy dragged you across his lap, then yanked your panties down and spanked your bare ass good and hard until you begged him to stop?”

Cass met his eyes steadily, fighting to keep her composure. She definitely didn’t see that one coming.

If Zander knew he’d struck a nerve, she’d lose control of both her subject and her interview. But the man scared her. It was as though he’d been there last night, in her bed and in her head as she fingered her wet pussy while imagining a shockingly similar scene. A man who could get inside someone’s mind so fast would be able to strike terror in his victim without ever having to resort to breaking bones.

She forced a laugh. “You do go straight for the jugular. Okay, I’ll confess.” Trying to hide her embarrassment, she kept her eyes away from the corner of the room. It was bad enough having to openly discuss her most shameful secret craving with this stranger. Trying to pretend Marshal Jacobs wasn’t sitting there listening to every word made it even harder.

“It’s been seven years. Seven years, eight months and… let me see… about thirteen days.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And thirteen days? Hmmm.” The heat in his eyes seemed to burn right through her clothes, stripping her bare. He nodded once. “That’s gotta be true. Okay, now it’s your turn.”

Cass knew she had only a few moments to prove herself a worthy opponent before he tired of the game. She mentally rejected all her usual questions designed to establish a rapport with a subject, going with one she normally saved for much later.

“How old were you the first time you hurt someone?”

He sat silently for a long time, staring off at the opposite wall. Just as she decided she’d made the wrong choice, he answered.

“Eleven. I turned eleven the week before. I was already big, bigger than most of the kids my age. My mom and my sister and I lived in a rough neighborhood of Cincinnati. Gangs, drugs. But it was all she could afford. She worked two lousy jobs to put food on the table and clothes on our backs. My sister was two years older, just sprouting little tits. One day she went out to the grocery store and came home empty-handed. Crying, blood running down her leg. I made her tell me who did it. She didn’t want to. She was afraid I’d go after him and end up with a knife in my belly.”

He stopped and looked into her eyes. “You were honest with me and I respect that. So I’m gonna be honest too. I’ve never told anyone this part, not even my sister. As far as she knew, I threatened Paulie and he ran away. I told her word on the street was that he split, went to live with his aunt in Cleveland. Truth is, I snuck out of the house three nights later and followed him to a bar. I hid behind a dumpster and waited for him. When he finally came out, he was stinking drunk, barely able to stand up. I hit him in the head with a brick and dragged him into the same alley where he raped my sister.

“He came to when I had the knife up against his balls. The guy was terrified, begging me for mercy. I didn’t care. I cut him pretty bad. Nearly castrated him. Told him if I ever saw him again, I’d finish the job by shoving his cock down his throat. He disappeared that night.”

Cass swallowed hard. Then she glanced down at the few mindless scribbles she’d made on the pad in front of her as he spoke. “
Eleven. Sprouting little tits. Aunt in Cleveland
.” She knew whenever she read those innocent words, she’d see the bleak despair in his eyes, hear beneath his matter-of-fact tone the voice of that frightened little boy forcing himself to become a man far too soon.

She took a deep breath and sanity gradually returned.
He doesn’t just break kneecaps. This guy is probably a stone-cold killer,
she reminded herself.
Don’t fall for his story. Chances are there’s barely a grain of truth in it. It’s designed to do exactly what it just did—make you forget all the horrible things he’s done and see him as the real victim.

She kept her tone light. “We’re one and one. Back at ya.” She mimed swatting a tennis ball across the table.

He gave her a sexy little grin, enough to make her wonder how she’d react if he ever turned the full force of his charm on her. “When they told me you’d be interviewing me, I read your last book. You’re good. Very good. So here’s my question…”

She braced herself, expecting another intimate invasion that would strip her soul bare.

“Who is
your
favorite writer?”

Cass shook her head. Zander Coleman was a formidable opponent. Keeping her off-balance every step of the way. She took a moment to consider, giving his question the same respect he’d given hers.

“For nonfiction, I’d have to say Malcolm Gladwell. He has a way of tearing apart real-life situations and events you’ve always taken for granted, assuming you knew and understood them. Then he shows you what
really
went on, building a case so solid you wonder how you could ever have seen it any differently.” She stopped, bit her lip as she considered. “For fiction—well, I’ll admit it. When I want to escape from what I do for a living I read junk books, accompanied by lots of junk food. If you want me to disappear for a while, give me a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and Nora Roberts’ latest romance. I’ll take happily-ever-after any day.”

“Never heard of Gladwell. What did he write?”

Cass went off on a tangent, recounting her favorite anecdote from one of his books. Following her instincts, she put her list of questions aside and they chatted about movies and music and childhood TV heroes. From past experience, she knew she’d discover insights into his character that he’d never tell her outright when she went back over her notes of this seemingly casual conversation. Finally Katherine stirred in the corner.

“We need to wrap it up for today,” she announced. “Mr. Coleman has an appointment with the assistant attorney general this afternoon. Can you come back tomorrow around ten a.m.?”

“Sure.” Cass began stuffing things back into her bag. She stood up. Zander rose too. The man stood a full head taller and as she looked up at him, Cass lost herself for a moment in the depths of those startling blue eyes. “I appreciate your willingness to meet with me, Zander. I look forward to telling your story.”

“I enjoyed discovering some very interesting things about you too, Cass.” His eyes raked over her body. Cass felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl as she remembered answering his embarrassing question. She’d never discussed her need to be spanked with any man except Trent and she found herself wondering how he’d gotten that admission out of her so quickly.

Katherine opened the door and Cass discovered Agent Smith had been outside the room the entire time. His face was blank as he walked her down the halls and out into the lobby. She followed him silently, cringing a little inside at the thought that he might have heard her secret.

Cass waved goodbye to the security guard. Agent Smith escorted her all the way to the elevator, even pushing the button to the first floor for her. When the door closed, she sagged back against the wall, her pulse racing. Zander Coleman was a hired thug, maybe even a murderer. But she’d responded to him like a schoolgirl coming face to face with one of the heartthrobs from a hot new boy band.

She’d have to be on her guard in the future. The man could have made a living as a world-class mind reader. He’d certainly been able to read hers. Not to mention the fact that with dazzling blue eyes and a firm six foot two body, he appealed to her most primitive sexual self.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the shiny elevator walls. Pale, shaken. Badly in need of a shot of self-confidence. She rummaged in her bag for the treasured scarf that served as her big-girl security blanket.

It wasn’t there. The elevator doors slid open on the first floor. Cass pushed the button to keep them open with one hand, pawing frantically through her bag with the other.

Gone. Her mind flew back to the security guard. He’d practically dumped the entire contents of her bag on his desk. Her rolled-up scarf must have been left there somewhere. Maybe underneath his clipboard or hidden by one of the messy stacks of paperwork he apparently managed to successfully ignore. She punched four and the elevator doors closed, taking her swiftly back up again.

Cass dashed into the smaller lobby on the fourth floor and came face to face with Zander Coleman and Marshal Jacobs. They both looked shocked to see her.

“I think I may have left something here. My scarf. There it is, on the security guard’s desk…” Her voice trailed off as she became aware of the tension in the room.

Zander moved, fast as a striking cobra. He shoved Katherine away and grabbed Cass, spinning her around and dropping his handcuffed wrists over her head.

Katherine reacted instantly, pulling her gun and training it on him. Zander casually raised his elbows. The movement lifted Cass onto her toes while tightening the cold metal chain against her throat. She gagged, leaning back against him to relieve the pressure.

“Everybody stay calm and no one gets hurt today.” His tone was as level as if he were announcing the lunch specials in the restaurant downstairs. “Marshal Jacobs, I need you to put your gun on the floor and kick it over here.”

Katherine didn’t move. Zander gave a slight tug. Cass let out a strangled cry, gasping for air as she clawed at the steel links around her throat.

“Okay!” Katherine held the gun between two fingers as she bent down, never taking her eyes off him. She dropped it the last few inches and sent it flying across the room with a swipe from the side of her foot.
She’s picked up some skills with all that time undercover as a soccer mom.
The wild thought flew unbidden into Cass’s head
. Pull yourself together, girl,
she admonished.
Now is not the time to fall apart.

“Now get the handcuffs off the security guard’s belt. Slide them through the handles of those double doors leading to the offices and cuff him. Take the key and put it in the outside pocket of your jacket.”

Cass’s eyes traveled across the room. She’d forgotten about the guard. One glance told her there’d be no help coming from him. He looked as terrified as she felt. Katherine led him to the double glass doors leading to the inner offices, threaded the handcuffs through the door handles, and then snapped them around his wrists. Until someone came into the lobby with a set of keys, the guard himself would keep everyone inside the offices trapped.

Zander glanced around the room. “Get down on the floor in the corner. Over there, where you can’t be seen from either door,” he ordered Katherine. “On your stomach. Put your hands behind your head.”

Katherine did as she was told. Zander half-dragged, half-carried Cass over to where she lay. “Time to make sure you stay put too,” he said to Katherine.

He bent forward, pulling Cass down with him. “Go through her pockets,” he ordered. “Undercover marshals don’t always carry handcuffs. She may have plastic zip ties instead. You’re gonna tie her hands behind her back and then get that key.”

Cass looked up at him. “No! I’m not doing a damn thing to help you escape.”

He shoved her to her knees next to Katherine’s body, the chain from the cuffs still lodged firmly around her throat. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. But if you don’t do as you’re told, I’ll have to shoot her instead. I can’t risk having her send out an alarm the minute we’re out the door.”

“No! Please…” Cass looked down at the marshal. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she began rifling through her pockets.

Katherine nodded. “It’s all right. This man is dangerous. Just do as he says.”

Cass brought out a couple of plastic strips, like the ones used to secure trash bags, only much longer and thicker, along with a handcuff key.

“Good.” Zander talked her through the process of securing Katherine’s hands with the zip ties. Her hands shook so much it took three tries before she was able to thread the end of the plastic through the hole.